upon us all

now
i look across this life
under the glowing memory
of days gone by

hanging like a setting horizon upon
an endless turning sea,
austere aquamarines

hanging
like
a kite string
	  slightly slipping ajar
                 from  fingers
                            uncurled

gone in the wind unto
an endless burning sky,
orange-crimson nylon dye

hanging


like smoke rings
always carried
in the breeze,
hanging like sacred smudge

auspicious tiny swirls
hang on the frayed ends of my clothes, little hooks

hanging
like

pictures of a special uncle

hanging
like

soft white coals of
incense

the sea of stories (and creation)

look at the sky
a web of stars
without lines,
a game of connect the dots
drawn in invisible ink
escaping with the moon

maybe if we were close enough
you could drag your finger through the constellations
and feel each thread, strum a song
and call it god;
weave a patch
in
the fabric of existence

or spin heaven into a spool
and save it for a time at sea,
letting it out at the quiet of night

(or
make a home in a corner of the room
at the light of morning)
hang tiny beads of dew like
drops
of
honey...


and sail on, unfold into a map
a cornered box of a sphere,
the opened gift of raven's chest

float atop
    the sea of stories
               and creation.