Even as dying, I have no time
For bitterness.

Life was too short,
Even before.

Each step holds gratitude for the sound
Of snow beneath it.

For
Now

I carry my passenger
Unburdened.

Say no to nothing. Not
Even the cancer.

Even tomorrow's mother's tears,
Father's clenched fists upon casket;

Flowers; loss. Inevitability.
Death grows inside me.

The opposite of a
Pregnancy.

Such a huge, beautiful sky
Now that the mountains have all
Called in sick.

Plains where valleys were,
Seas withdraw as if in retreat;  
Defeated armies of

Timelessness. Wake of
Soil and stone. Such a
Huge, all embracing heaven  

Not even looking down.
And now, enter her, as I make
Myself comfortable with

My new life of treatments and
A violently shortened lifespan;
The one I always loved from

Within the shadows.
Willing me to live.
Caring.

A sleeper angel deployed to
Hold the holder;
Double-wing-cover from

The snow. Old love unspoken.
The kind that makes hills run for
Themselves.

Steady and unquestionable;
Tectonic shifts between hearts
Running out of

Tic-tocs and bass lines.
Plains where valleys were. She
Fills craters with her presence

In the room.
Never my girl; always my girl.
Sleeper angel activated.

I see why the seas withdraw.
No wonder the mountains called
In sick.

She raises solar storms with her little finger;
Conducts atmospheric changes with
A sigh.

She raises her glass of red
To the moon.

Each mirror the other.
Like lake surfaces;

The laughing eyes of old
People together, and

Other things that shine.
Her friend since forever.

A mother; she holds galaxies
In her heart, supernovas within.

The moon is her only witness.
And I.

For Erling


Eighteen years is nothing.
Even those that may pass
Between each time we
Meet over coffee
Are hummingbird heartbeats.

Such are the strings between
Brother hearts.
No room for discord;
Life never 'gets in the way', we
Just know:

The stars won't move an inch  
While we live. So let's just
Walk and watch them,  
Even be silent, and in that silence
Do all the catching up

We need:
These could be hurtful times,
But aren't.
As long as you can look up and
Smile at us all, I'm not

Going anywhere.

Spring sun rising
On fields dry from
Frost that sing
Of rainbows.

Duet between the frail film
Of ice on everything
And its beautiful astral
Killer.

Light playing on surfaces at their most beautiful
Right before they
Perish.

Even human hands
Unclench
In spring.

Calyx
Fingers.

Look: This flower
Opens to offer; this
To recieve.

Outside my window I count
Three shadows.
Twelve legs.
Grazing.

Up here we call the elk
The King of the Woods.
[Antlers the width of your widescreen;
As convincing a crown as any].

When they run past the house
The crystal shakes in
The cupboard.
The cat breaks records up trees.

I am a man.
I am merely a man.
I will never own the night.

She has no mirror
but where flirt the leaves with the pond
she comes in the cool of noon
mixing the dark of her hair
with the summer shade
dipping into glass green water
her toes and far above
and all the pond sees
encrypts within the bubbles of rainbow
that only her clothes
swelled in awe
can read.

Cancer, old devil.
I've shaken my fists at your
Ugly back as

You've laid your
Hands on my loved
Ones.

Cursed your name;
Kicked at your
Shadow. At last you've

Gathered the
Courage to
Face me. I

Suppose you could only
Ignore me for so   
Long.

Come at me with scythe
Raised, I'll stand,  
Broadsword

Drawn.
No shield; double-
Grip-swinging.

I'm ready.
No nurse ever saw
You greeted

With
A smile like
This.

No river bed rock ever
Kisses the same water
Twice.

Autumn opens her arms
To September, and I close
My window for the first

Time since May.
I have had better
Summers. Love left behind

In a deluge of tears and regret.
Doctors sharing bad news
With honest concern;

Waves upon sand castles,
Moments; memories, then
Nothing.

I rest beneath the
Cold stream, perhaps
Allowing new waters

To feel my face in time.
For now, the rain strokes
Nothing but the glass

Of a window shut
To the chill of a dying
Summer.

I don't mind death, as long it
Comes under an open sky.

Crows and magpies go for the
Eyes first.

The dead need them the
Least.

Lack of life renders once living
Things more alien within

Walls. So
I don't mind death as long as it

Comes under an open sky.
Among trees, mountains,

Soil, and stones,
I'll surrender my

Eyes gladly to the
Birds.