May the moon rise (Boston 1)

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When there’s thoughts to have next to you, so quiet.

When there’s a place- and a bench for sitting at the end of an old lane, that faces the haunted harbor

And don’t you know, that it’s there. 

In a cab in Boston going in the wrong direction in the right…and those big globes of light at night, seeing them dance (though they’re still); its all movement in the nighttime. Every night that you yearn, to see that missing moon up there - the black clouds blacken and nothing is right — but in just the pace of an inhale there it is, WOW. -pause- See the vibes shining in your mind, so coming fast that you swear — didn’t all the streetlamps just get brighter and dimmer? Weren’t there shadows dancing? Wasn’t it…

Makes it all feel so enchanting-uneasy- you fear and you draw…it in inside. 

Back in the even, weekday-ordinary evening — the woods shadowed back over, and turnabout street on which I now live (some inhales later), the trees, got nothing more to say just yet…just sweet quiet. And I smile at their golden branches — cause I know, we know, they’ll change…mend to the blustery cold sharp winds a’coming — branched into something intricately placed. Cause we find places. New ones, wonderful, -stroll against the wind through, as everything is unfamiliar kind of wonderful… and you can’t remember the last broken break, or entire weekend alone in bed for one. Isn’t that a blessing — and a sacrifice of the words halting on the other side. Isn’t that something.

Halt. But what’s the use of it? Let it, let the delicate faint lines form upon the very walls because it feels right. Left. Up and…well…

Let the ‘scape, and the scope —and hell, all of it that this season burns into the air, in oh-such-fragrant air of Baltimore — be inside plenty of blushed smiles. The day fog lifts and it’s a passion like never before. The leaves, the hot candlelit meals, the layers being pulled off - soft cotton sweaters - then the hot steaming showers when you thank the necessities and the stars. The cold and the heat. 

So dream another morning with me, so quiet. 

Dream amongst the thickened sheets of how we feel, rising high and rhythmically entirely holding on…to the sun piercing brilliantly, angles of the room. 

Beauty. Fall back down again and rest your soul, breathe. 

And that’s the closest lullaby, these scripts of prose. 

That’s where I’ll end for tonight — and may you sleep, in thoughts of magic autumn. 

May the moon rise. 

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Missed Summer

Guess I missed summer again. Guess I didn’t mind… But then I remember that’s a lie too. All those teenie baby smiles on his little face, all those it’s-gonna-be-alright embraces, all the laughter and the sun, all those moments to take it all in, …and every single time I wished for someone far away and felt it all the way through. That counted too. 

Count the ways in which a season slips by in the way you don’t expect. And I will love you from faraway forever more; old friends that have been lost. Old roads and signs - and that strange wonderful night in November — they wait and they age, and we take a new risk tomorrow instead. We meet another. 

Wouldn’t I love to say something stunningly new now. Wouldn’t it change the course of fate by mere typing….with a slig of bourbon and gulp down of humidity, here we go. Here the dreams come true. Here upon this, and here upon next. And what was I saying? Ah hell another swig… 

Cause memories all sound better this way, and we do better as adults these days. We love and we teach and play with the kids cause they’re all precious things that age. Then you realize what you said — that you grew up. 

But you’re the same. 

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Down the road

That same song was playin’, as I looked out at the early evening city and took a breath — of finally cooling air, in, atop the drying dust of the day and mud on old shoes… And I thought about what I used to hope for. That it was disappearing… in the slow lane going down the highway — with this heaviness and this new patience, it was on the journey to gone for quite some time past and now…Gone. Maybe that was finally alright. Maybe I could smile about it, cause now I'm free of it, of being trapped inside your own wish, that's failing after every risk. Maybe it was after, after all. 

Cause the hot late-summer blood in my veins, it feels like the best of who I was before everything…went differently. Differently we go after so many chances, and we let this beautiful life change us. For love, for passion, for epic unexpected thought-it’d-work nights. Ah, but the nights… Fail again into something great, lay next to me, and maybe we’ll just remember the trace of moments I know this tired body has embraced, under the stars —— and let it come alive anew — jumping-into-their-arms without looking back kind of way…

…I could go for that kinda’ choice tonight, I think, as I get back in the car and turn right for home. For running into something, for risking the full throttle of what we have of roaring insides still. Still, after another day that felt like a year, burning alight a night, before that call at dawn — could be something. Really something we could have. Something for the next day. 

For now I’m not sure of the next words — I forgot them all this long strange summer along with everything — and now it tickles on my fingertips and the questions not asked on my lips, to talk of everything next. So what is everything now? Maybe tomorrow I’ll know… cause suddenly it’s all catching up and I’m tired. Letting the eyelids fall with the Book of Then put to bed. The hopes that never were that don’t survive. Everything that went differently…even in the place, that deep forest, that I loved, where I fell in love all those years ago — there was nothing to feel of before. There the hopes fell into the sand and I didn’t notice. 

So goodnight to that ever after and this tiresome day, there’s a beautiful morning coming in hours, even if I just sleep till then and wait…



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