Fallen leaves of our lives’ moments
catch the haunting scent and color
of an old frustration, of longing
still alive beyond the mulch
of passing years burying it all
in actual events and circumstances…
Sarah kneading dough on Christmas Eve,
her Mardi Gras beads jingling
the same colors glowing on the tree…
Lourdes and Mario, my sister and brother,
on a Christmas Eve so long ago,
believing when I told them Ken & Barbie
moved in the bedroom to hold each other.
I remember the wonder on their faces,
magic shining in their eyes proving to me
how much I love their timeless beings…
Abuelo and Abuela lying together
while I sat at the foot of their bed
watching Masterpiece Theatres.
Now they’re dead, lying alone
and I’m still here part of the show…
Cookie caressing the sea turtle’s back,
her fingertips leaving a trail of fairy dust,
phosphorescent algae shimmering green-blue,
lighting up the night beneath the moon
as it walked purposefully into the ocean,
terrifying black depths dangerous
with undertows all leading home…
Love can never express itself
fully enough embraced by time.
When you’re young you think it’s great
sex you want at one with true love.
Growing older it’s a mysterious
merger of thoughts and earthly dreams
you need as the sun begins to rise
and set with alarming speed,
beating you with mortality
until you ache with compassion
for your self and all forms
of life, until you hope nothing –
all those lost persons and moments –
ever dies. Until you’re forced to
have faith in the tree of your life
even though its roots are only theories
of darkness becoming matter through
light, and our thoughts are powerless
sentences silhouetted against the sky,
breathing this way of life into us by day,
exhaling boundless promises at night.
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