In the next life

The meeting room so familiar more than 30 years ago,
Not seen in half my lifetime,
Not given much thought all those years,
You are there in that room but I don’t know you.

Now I am remembering the youth gathering there
Thinking of you being there living your separate thread.
You were college age and single.
I was nearer 30 and father of an elementary schoolchild.

The women there were impressive in every way.
You are one of those women.
Many a time I have mused what if I were paired with one of them.
I am excited to re-meet you, hopeful we will like each other.

For us our encounter is a bit of meeting in the afterlife.
I dropped away after 5 years, moved out of town, working overtime.
You were devoted to the cause for 30 years, loyal and true.
And now you are moving on to the next life.

I awake this morning in the cabin next to the brook in full flood
With the rushing, roaring waterfall sound to center me
And I remember the Key Martin cabin near Stamford.
Did you ever spend a night there?

It’s not so far from here, also on a brook
On the West Branch near the headwaters,
Filling the New York City reservoir system
On its way to Trenton and Philadelphia.

Having a cabin like this was a boyhood fantasy.
Now this is real, this is so special,
Infused with the kinetic energy of the brook.
Having a companion like you is my adult fantasy.

memory day bike and row

Enjoying the passage of time

What a wonderful place to be.
I feel young. It is an unexpected delight.
Who would have thought
Here’s the fountain of youth.

“Do you have room in your life for someone else?”

Strange how the question comes up
When I was asking myself the same question.
I like so much in my life today.
Is there a way to be with you and not lose that?

Making the trip down out of the mountains

I am gliding along the country road
Following the contours of the land
Following the stream then turning
Powering up and over the height of land.

I know the way by heart.

Later, just in front of me on the escalator down
A small child stumbles and I reach to hold her up.
I am a stranger to her. I talk to her gently.
My daughter compliments my parental response.

All the children are my children in my heart.

after the rain

One And One Make Two

The intact shells two halves making a whole catch my eye
Balanced lightly there where the receding tide left them
Two shells open to the sky as a random pair of pairs.
Something about them is meaningful to me today.

I can only see these things in my solitude.
When I’m alone I notice all sorts of things around me
When I’m not looking inward lost in my thoughts.
This is the gift for me of being in the solo moment.

It seems I can only focus on one thing at a time.
When I’m with another and fully engaged with them
I hardly know what else is going on besides our conversation.
Today I walked past a pond and didn’t see it.

The shells are a symbol in my waking dream.
The meaning is complex, but basically it’s simple.
The symmetry of one and one makes two,
That’s the thought or feeling in the back of my mind.

Of course I love the curve of the shell and the curve of the shadow
And the way the curve changes as you move around.
That’s a sensuous experience for me.
I take a photograph to be able to enjoy what will be gone with the next tide.

And now I return to my personal self examination.
It’s been a long time in my sense of time since anyone wanted me
In the way that couples in love want each other.
And when it happened in the past, I didn’t question it.

I just happily gave over my full affection,
Unconcerned whether there was any hidden agenda,
Unsuspecting, full of endorphins from sex,
Full of hope and expectations.

Do you know, I miss that young man in love.
And I forgive him and forgive her, too,
For all the years and years out of love with each other,
Loving the children but miserably disappointed.

What would it be like to be an old man in love?
I long to feel the warm touch of another
Soothing the ache, taking the pain away,
Feeling the joy and grief of love lost and found again.

The Underworld

for my son

The underworld, under the water,
In the darkness of the tidal brown silt of the estuary,
Where you go in your scuba diving gear
With your eyes closed.

“You can’t see anything anyway”, you explain.
“It’s easier to feel your way with your eyes shut.”
You can’t see your air meter or wrist watch.
You must trust your partner on land with your life.

Every week you practice with your team,
Year round, even in the winter ice.
The siren call knows no season.
You are the heroes who rescue others.

You are too often called to the grim recovery work,
Bringing up lifeless bodies from the depths,
Stiff and damaged, found by groping in the dark,
Pulled up into the light as a horrific sight.

I can only imagine what it is like being down there,
All alone, blind, pulled along by the currents,
Guessing where you might be, guessing
How much time you have left before you must surface.

You who journey to the underworld so often,
You become a guide as one who knows well the murky waters,
The tidal currents of the unconscious carrying our surface thoughts along,
As if the conscious mind were in control.

You must know yourself and be secure in yourself
To make those dives down to meet your fears.
You come back to us a changed man
As one who has been put to the test and kept your grip.

I have never faced the challenge of the dark depths.
I don’t know if I could do it.
You have my respect and admiration.
I am proud of your accomplishment.

spring rain swamp walk