At the Hour of Your Death

I will punch—

punching holes in fearful symmetry.

I will seek absolution,

offer forgiveness,

offer to trade places with you.


And you?

You'll have all the time of the evermore.


Time to explore every line,

every life,

every dream.


Time to sit with each bubble of the flow,

to extract every remedy and meaning.

Time to mourn with the weepers,

to survey every curvature.


It is all yours.


I will hold you here, if you wish,

in the light of this partial eclipse—

here on a bench

on the edge of the labyrinth.


Above the poppies and the weeds,

the whistling birds delight.

As do I.


I brought incense to burn—

I heard you liked it.

I offer the mid-morning breeze

on your face as a gift.


All of it,

I offer to you.


You are eternal.

You can be whole

Where you like.


But I will hold you here,

if I may—

just long enough

to sit and talk

on the stone bench

as we have always done

before.


This is the part where I say

I am a speck

of a speck

of a dream’s dream.


A haunted hallway

reflecting uncertain

in a pane of glass.


I get swept into the sea—

there,

the symbols break, break, break

against you 

looking at me.


It’s not forgetfulness,

but clarity.


Every moment

is all of nothing

cresting on the surface,

deciphered by the poet-king

outside the realm of time.



If you get locked

into the break, break, break

of an endless cycle—

a quantum feedback loop,

a snake eating its own tail,

a figure 8 you can’t unsee—


Know this, Brother:


I carved out this place.


I was friends with your father.

And I am with even now,

counting grains, grains, grains

on a beach in 2015, Santa Cruz—

the week of Passover and Easter.


I’m also on the bench—

the one on the right where you sit—

evolving from the sea

with the spiders in the web.


Think.

Think.

Think.


In the name

of what is good

and true

and real.



Sometimes the words bubble up

from a secret place

where the conversation leans in

like a heavy script.


And I am listening

to the Author,

as the actors themselves

delight to speak

such beautiful lines—

though I do not understand

the meaning at all.


I shall listen again

And again.



A well-meaning purple fragrance

met me halfway

between the overgrown weeds.

It reminded me

of the greatest thing I could ever have.


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