more

 
 
which is more vocal this morning?   rain or wind?

for all the words I write, then lift my eyes above the page,
the world I see is

         more bright
         more gestured
         more reliant
         more tender
         more vivid
         more voiced
         more intimate
         more loving

         more simply so.

oh.   look.   there’s the shadow of you.
how does that also satisfy?   it does.
         how much of you am I?

why ever turn my eyes away?   I do.
a boat on the water alone.
 
 
eager autumn blows.
this water washed world blankets us.

as night turns, faces a single white sky.
some days you are all my eyes can see.

         salvation says,

when the sun comes through a break in clouds
it feels like laughter.
 
 
 
that…   that man, he lived his life with two angels
at the foot of his bed.   always.   he was light.

came the day, came the disease, time soon to go.
he lived dying the way he always lived his life.   full.

then nearer, one day he says,
I want to live.   I don’t want to leave this place.   any of it.

another day and he remembered himself.

another day, he changed.   away.
 
 
odd?   what I most remember was that brief desire
of holding on.   out of character?   to my ears he was
the most full person he always was.

         nothing held apart.   nothing.
 
 
         more bright

         more full
 
 
 

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