How far down can I be?
From the life that swallowed me.
Wandering down the same faded lanes.
Looking for mythical messages…
In this, the most old-fashioned of New Hampshire towns.
Where antiquated becomes motionless.
Laying about without a sound!
I would put a name to the provocation.
But am not quite sure how.
It is an unequivocal ride.
That will not end.
Not end until a name is pressed in stone.
It is the longest of journey’s home.
As vast as it seemed, it had only been a dream.
Murky and vague, I awoke and had become…
everything my mother had hoped I would be.
The joy in her eyes had been a prosthetic.
The sins she had always shared…
were no longer kinetic.
Slowly fading from sight…
Freedom from our bondage, once again, turned pathetic.
Before this delusion slithered from my specter.
I caressed sleep from my eyes.
And, awareness back to a falling figure, fetal on the floor.
With less came more.
Disappointment lay beside me…
as it had, a thousand times before.
My awakening had been just a dream within a dream.
A door within a door.
With the watering, came the changing, scattering of leaves.
Along the line of vagrancy, came the thoughts.
Mirrored images…of you.
it is your time of year.
Those Irish eye’s laughing in the rain.
Not to be overcome.
Memories of you.
Tears like a forest filled with dew.
A gold cross with a clasp never to unfurl.
The hushed way you could hum…
The innocence always reminded me of silk on lace.
And, as it showers in Francis’s garden…
Every thought I cherish.
Just an… easy reflection of life contrasting with the season’s hues.
And, Grace, my fears relieved How precious did that grace appear.