In The Harbor
Ghostly halos encircle the moon,
diffusing in the night sky,
as phantom clouds,
like ships in a fog,
drift by on wayward courses.
Within the silent estuary
softly stroked by lunar light,
gentle swells caress the dock,
rocking rows of sleepy boats
to quiet, easy slumber.
Mirrored sail masts mingle
in the stillness of the deep.
And I stand in solitude,
drinking in the sea's tranquility,
breathing in its peace.
Sailing
Snap of the canvas.
Tug of the wind --
pushing -- pulling.
Sail mast aimed heavenward.
Rocking, slipping,
dipping with the waves,
confirming constellations on our course.
The Man in the Moon
beams down his silver smile,
caressing the swells
with a necklace of stars.
A kaleidoscope of light on shore
awaits our coming,
refuge from the wind and numbing cold,
fireside and wine.
Meanwhile, strong and silent,
our ship carries us safely home.
A Look Back
Gusty sea breeze.
Salt-weathered houses battered and bleached.
A row of sailboats still-framed, sleeping in the afternoon,
and nearby, a lighthouse, a citadel thrust against the sky.
Waves talk haphazardly at layers of clouds.
Gray upon gray reflecting gray.
I could stare outside this window for hours I think.
The sea is so compelling:
Invulnerable, timeless,
immortal, wise.
I feel it has all the answers
and I have many questions.
It's raining.
Sandpipers run along Princeton Pier
and mud hens leave their barely perceptible imprints in the sand.
I used to come here often, I remember.
But this place has so much to do with you
that it's time… past time… to move on.
Michael
You probably don't think about a sunrise.
You gaze upon hills shrouded in misty veils
and say, "how beautiful!" without a second thought;
perceive a breeze laden with jasmine,
new-mown grass carried on the wind,
and remember not its fragrance
brushed softly on your skin.
You greet a smile or wagging tail,
forgetting them as you walk by.
A succulent wine or subtle cheese?
No memory of them now.
The timbre of a symphony
bring to mind a neighbor’s tie,
or the conductor's sweating brow.
But from my bed I gaze at trees.
Their leaves dance gaily in the wind.
Dewdrops shimmer on a blade of grass.
My cat cajoles with contented rumblings.
I savor a line in a well-worn book,
the smooth, cool sweetness of ice cream.
And cry at the laughter of my child,
my lover's trembling look.
I'll miss this life.
It gave me what I thought I'd never lose:
strength -- I was an athlete,
music -- I sang and composed,
intelligence, friends,
a son I will not see become a man.
And so I envy you --
you who take tomorrow's dawn for granted.
I may not live to see it.
Death's Bright Angel is fickle in his choosing!
And should I die before this night is through,
I beg of you -- seek pleasure in the rain,
in scarlet leaves swept along a sidewalk.
Extend a smile or wave or laugh,
And please, please take time to watch a sunrise.
Beloved Companion
Now, as ships of feathered cirrus
sail across the blazoned sky
on seas of gold and lustrous rose,
as fragrant boughs of Jeffrey pine --
made a fledgling sanctuary --
lift a final supplication
to approaching night,
here in this immense cathedral --
spires carved of jagged peaks,
corridors of wind-swept trees,
tapestries of dappled earth --
I come to set you free.
Here where earth and heaven meet
come greet your waiting kin.
See? They frolic in the breeze,
and call to you from waving bough.
Through rimless canyons you'll cavort,
up hazy, shadowed hills.
Romp and prance on velvet sod,
and dance up lofty, footless trails.
Across the rainbow bridge you'll fly,
beyond the bowing sun,
til your head rests at the feet of God.
I've loved you so. Sweet friend, goodbye.
Crossroads
In a breathtaking moment atop this craggy peak,
an ascending monolith thrust against the past,
I gaze at tall, majestic pines stretching mightily to the heavens,
patchwork quilts of sunlit rays
laid across the scrub brush and soft, arm earth,
and stand in the crossroads of a tangled web of paths,
snaking and sidling, winding through the mountainside.
How much these arteries of rugged climbs,
gentle trails, and smooth, slippery slopes
bring to mind my own maze of choice!
Zigging back and forth, intersecting and diverging,
hindered by obstacles and familiar grooves
so well-worn that I never seemed to trip,
these tracks I've traveled now must face the new.
And here I see the world below has somewhat less significance.
Higher by a mile and closer to the heavens,
I breathe the scents of all eternity
touched by nature's awesome power, embraced
by these magnificent castles built of immortal stone.
While pondering the ageless wisdom
pressed inside each fissure and fragment of rock,
I wonder what I'm meant to hear
in the rushing whisper of the pine trees' sway,
in the chorus of the meadowlark.
and think of all I might discover dancing in sunbeams,
frolicking with wildflowers in capricious delight,
if I but freed my soul to soar unruffled by the height.
Know It All
At times I think I know it all,
and answers that elude me now
come springing up from somewhere,
lifting me to a higher plain of certainty.
Painful doubts slink into their worry holes,
sealed off, cut off,
and my mind is suddenly, joyfully free.
This illusion never lasts of course,
and I'm forced to admit
that I haven't got a clue.
Most of the time seems life's like that:
Just as I reach the top of the mountain
I encounter another point of view