SPIT AND POLISH AT ARLINGTON
Bagpipes cry over mounds of new dirt
Above the hill, bright skies canopy a mourning family
A procession of black cars winds its way to a uniformed sentry
Far off, horses and carriages wait to carry a soldier home
Ashes sit alone surrounded by thousands of silent voices
Gatherers murmur their goodbyes
One but many
One but many
A hundred times a day
I am not alone in this space between darkness and dawn
And here I find this one who knew that one
Together and alone
Threads weaving through networks of fragile connections
A thought passed on, a few words resonating
Like concentric circles, waves moving outward
Disappearing into the dark
we took the new boat out for a ride around the salt pond,
letting her ride over waves, melt into dips.
above, seagulls cawed, warning us of rocks and shallows.
sun glistened off blue gray ripples, tears dripped from my wind-blown eyes.
new seat cushions spattered with debris.
yet nothing mattered.
on the water, visiting coves, remembering childhood dreams.
we drifted into the sandbar and tossed anchor, knowing the path to the ocean was around the bend.
pounding waves called to us, as the boat napped, waiting.
#hyperlinked poetry
A moving moment…
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Narrow passages ribbon their way
Around backyards and back lives.
A city layered in mounds of green ivy
There is a noise in the silence, a humming blending into nothing.
This bridge to history tells stories,
but more joy comes in peeking around bushes and vines.
What peace comes from sheltered havens of green?
A path to solitude, a place to hide
The spaces speak their own language
