We are each floating, and so it is right and kind to notice and greet those floating along side us - we are each driven by the same flow to the same sea but within our own stream (some main, some minor), but all heading down and meandering, slowly slowing, unless we find resistance and find cause for rejuvenation - and of course, we do.  We all do.

“Hello, old friend.”
The lines in his face
are streams of white sand
Falling through the hourglass.
“It’s been a while.”
He says to me
But we both know
That he never left.
We walk together
On the worn path.
He holds my hand
Not in comfort,
But to drag me forward.
He’s a swift current.
He’s a companion,
Traveling by my side.
He’s an ocean,
The eternal and endless tide.

Downstream, three buckets

of mayonnaise are sailing --


along with our boat.

i eat the food of the soft and hard work
   no time is left for a god to appear
cross the river and find a path that works
   a life of effort all live with the true

of not excisting in the mind of self
   and what we call god is a bandaid that
is better than nothing as we bleed life
   out of love upon a table raza

which is true yet maleable so now
   we walk and talk the walking head maybe
not a word is true that's not thought softly in
   a moment of yells and we follow

as to the inner true unheard that
can be peaceful if we try i do not know what

The more I think of Death,
The more attractive it seems to Me.
I feel like trading My belongings
and entering Paradise meant for Me.
Waving  Good-bye to all My Passions,
blowing out Kisses to My Pain.
Drawing all the Curtains in My Life
before Sorrows begin to Rain.
Half of My Life is Done and Dusted,
the other Half is not wanting Me.
Life that was Once a Silent River.
Now out there.....it's a Stormy Sea.
I shall breathe until the Sun is Shinning.
Under the Sky that's Calm and Blue.
Today is a Gift that God has given.
I shall enjoy it until it's Thru.

A place of silence
the bed of an exhausted runlet
parched and windless
it can make us remember
the part when we touched
some of us used it as a mirror once
saw in its rippling
the shimmering scales
of fleshed out time
it seemed real
it's frightening to realize it's real
we can recall when the never-ending flow
is exhilarating
alive
unlike other mysterious phenomena
now everything seems irretrievable
though we can still vaguely
hear its voice
in our lives
everyone carries with them
a streamlet
but we never want to be clear
about the existence
and future of the stream bed.

"I dreamt that the river was burning"
"I dreamt that the snow was on fire"
"And"
"In dreaming impossible dreams"
"I dreamt that you were my lover"

but...
the river dried up,
the snow had melted,
my eyes opened,
and...

I can't remember

Engraving each memory on a grain of sand
I captured time, for infinity, in a bottle
With tired eyes I sit there and mull
turning it around, over and over.

Will the sand ever pave the way forward?
Or will it cut deeper and deeper?
The grains may beckon over their own kind
wading through time, eroding like a river.

Perhaps there was a start to this all
A cold, unmelting person, thawing
as the lands shaped them, the scenery changed
but the river of memories just kept flowing.

It never makes it to the sea, oh no
never to float away, or to discover paradise
reaching the end only to turn back
oh, I've captured the sands of time.

The memories now all fade into one
of reliving each moment, the joy and the agony
the cascading grains all sing the same song
of the life I've lived, quite a symphony.


The glass is full, there's no more space
the fields passing by were never meant to last
a new course to be charted, to discover, to seek
to fill and measure with a new hourglass.