“At Year’s End”

The wind blows in
As I sit in sin and count
My failings thrice.

I would surely give in
If I could only begin
To resolve or to suffice.

I live in this den
With a yen to surcease
This damned and pretend game of dice.

And so the year ends,
Let’s be merry, my friends,
And hope we don’t go through this twice.


“Christmas Eve in the Early Morn”

Christmas Eve in the early morn:
An open window and a strong wind.

She was strong and opened herself
To me in the brisk morning
As I braced myself for her parting
Gift of unutterable loneliness.

It was her gift I needed
To be alone and to weep
That she was not with me.

Why should I not keep
This window open, and listen
To the falling rain, and let
This pain fall to meet me
In the desert of my longing?

Do you need to speak
Like the wind, like the rain?
I will listen.
Do you need to weep
For lost nights and lost days?
I will weep with you.

I want nothing more
Than to weep with you,
And on that long awaited night
When there is nothing more that I want,
I still will live
To weep with you.

“If You Were Here”

I would like most of all for you to be here
Maybe then I could face the day
I yearn for you above all to be near
When you are not I do not know what to say

I am withering here where you were
For lack of your body and your smile
I know I will never sink or stir
If your wondrous heart leaves me this beguiled

If only I knew of your angelic grace
I might have let you in
But now I cannot look myself in the face
I cannot weep and I cannot grin

You are an angel, you are yourself
So why have I fallen this deep in the mire?
What looks like pain feels like health
My condition has never been this dire

It all has been lost and now I seek
To retrieve what of myself I still can
To inherit the world one must remain meek
I’ve been given much more than I can stand

And so I sit, here in this chair
And wonder how we all survive
In this demise where we are laid bare
Cut in pieces with venomous knives

“William Blake, A Lonesome Angel, and Me

I hear my neighbor start to sigh,
I see her as she starts to cry,
I cannot bear to hear her cry,
Yet here she weeps, so near to me.

Come, my neighbor, do not sigh,
And come, my neighbor, must we lie?
Come now, my love, do not ask why,
Why, will you not die not to lie with me?

Oh, my neighbor, you must fly!
O, my love, I lie! I lie!
But my dear angel, I alone will die
If you flee from here, away from me.

“A Shimmering Light”

I struggled and strained and failed to enter
A guarded palace with a golden center,
The light to which I held the switch:
It switched off, and Fall fell into Winter.
A shimmering light held my eyes through the night,
Whence it came, where it went, I don’t know.
Brimming and bright, the sun took its last flight,
While the light I’d beheld laid me low.

“How Can I Be A Writer”

How can I be a writer
When I always forget
What aphasia means?

And why do I usually
Forget why I used to
Need to forget it all?

I remember only when
I will myself to give up
My will in this sinful

Renunciation. I remember
Now, as I forget how to be
One who has never been one.

Can I be with you once more,
You who never have been
Who you wanted to be, you

Who were never with me
And never will be again?
Let me be with you. Oh Lord,

I pray, let me be. Oh, God,
As I lie here on this bed, I
Plead, please, let me be.

That is Enough

Isn’t it strange to see the sun full on? I always feel better seeing it through a tree or trees or seeing it in the reflection of a lake. I do not deserve to see it full on, up in the sky, not reflecting or shining through anything. It is too much, too great, too full of passion and life. Only the great may see it full on. It suits them and to all others it is too much. And what if it is shining above the ocean? The ocean and the sun! To see God and then to see another no less Godlike! The brave man stares directly into the deep, directly up into the glory, with nothing to protect his eyes. Ah, but who am I? I am not a brave man, so I look at the sun through the branches, with sunglasses to protect my eyes, and that is enough.

“Not Knowing Myself, A Poem Is Written”

No other on earth knows me as I am.
Those who think they know me best
Know me least. Those who know
They don’t know me, at least know that.
No other will ever know me, as a whole, in this world.

This is written not with excess sorrow or pity or pride.
No other needs to know me, and I do not need
To be known by any other. I alone need to know
Myself, that other I am. I do not know
Why I do not know, but I do know it.

The knowledge that I know
Nothing is painful, difficult to bear. But before
Being can be known, Nothingness must be borne.
Only when I know myself do I exist, as myself.
If I have no knowledge, then I have

No being. I am not, for I know not
What I do or why I do it. I know
Nothing. I do not even know
Why I write these words, or
Why I wake up and find life

Only in these hours when the rest of
The world as we know it is lost in dreams,
Or dreamless sleep. I must wake up
At this time, or in time this distance
Between what I once knew and who I could be

Will grow too great for me to bridge.
I am not still, for I still do not know
What I do or why I do it.
Do you know what you do?
Why do you read these words?

What do you need to know?
Are we born not knowing, so we are
Forced to yearn till death make us whole?
Can we ever know? Can we even live
In this world of dreams if we unearth

The shattering reality of who we actually are?
The knowledge that I know
Nothing is painful, difficult to bear;
But if I knew myself, would that knowledge
Bring even more pain? Could I live with it?

I must wake up now, at this time, or in time
This distance will keep me tied down
To dreams, seeing only what seems
To be, forgetting what I need to do,
To remember who I am.

“Blessing For One Disinclined to Work”

You who do not wish to work,
You too are blessed.
I bless the work you did not
Want to do, that you did,

And I bless the work you
Will do, that you do not
Want to do now.
What is it, truly,

That you want to do?
I ask only because I long
To know. I knock not expecting
An answer, accepting

Whatever response or
Lack thereof I receive.
I believe that nothing you
Do or do not do will deceive

You, you who are more
Than you do, who know
More than you know.
What is the work that,

Once done, will satisfy
Your restlessness, your need
To work? Incline your ear
To the work that could define

Your life, while not
Defining yourself by the work
You do or leave undone.
You are a son of Light,

And though you give
Birth to the daughter of
Darkness, be not disturbed
By your unworthiness,

For no one is worthy
To go where this work will
Take them. Be taken,
take heed, let the work

Bleed out of you, though the
World be quick to find
any easy way to stop
The bleeding.

When the bleeding stops,
The work cannot continue.
We are all disinclined to do
What we must, yet must we tarry?

Neither delaying nor hurrying,
But with strength and purpose,
The candle flickering on the empty
Desk, I will walk with you

Into a land where the blood
That spills out of you
Spills into the boundless sea
Where what is now will always be.