SEPTEMBER
For a longish time I saddled up the dream each morning,
With darkness’ fall, I brushed you off my shoulders
Realigning my balance for dreams.
Old man, you are banished
Into your well of no acknowledgement;
In your inability to reveal love, review life.
Pack your suitcase of pretended nonchalance
Put it by the bus stop bench
For your tour of lonely eternity:
But wait! You are not alone!
It only seemed that way.
You dipped eager fingers into my life
Allowed small satisfactions: matches, not candles
Yes, I liked you imperious & you swelled to fill that role —
When slipping into the kitchen to embrace me
Was all you ever needed to do.
OCTOBER
The linking fingers slide apart
Where once was full embrace…
We are a remembrance of recognition
Smoke without mirrors: an irritant.
The road has twisted; I am no longer faint of heart
Nor will I falter in seeking out of your grasp
I forced all my music into one instrument
When I needed a concert hall orchestra.
Divinity is upon me again
Claimed in its embrace, I dare once more to dance.
NOVEMBER
Time to let you go now.
Unlace the dream tied ‘round my wrist
Close my eyes to open them to the new world
Without shadows.
Time to shoulder my pack
Set by the roadside in anticipation
Of traveling with you
We had a picnic for a feast
A day in the life…
A purloined kiss.
The song’s delicious fading
Out of memory, beyond horizons
Many endings, many deaths
From dearth of dreams.
I shake myself, I rouse to reroute the sun
There are new trails I follow now
I am around your shadow & gone.
Riding the Light 
Gosh Carol.
You are an amazing writer, I sit here and chuckle over this. Good riddance old fellow. love it. Lis.
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Thanks, Lis – I appreciate your thoughts! It was a good exercise in opening to another & then parsing what that feeling could exactly encompass. I have decided to go back to the theatre group – now that I’m immune to him. I love performing, memorizing, entertaining, the closeness of putting together a show, the make-believe/reality braiding. Plus my impish / impious nature comes forth like a pointed pencil, I can write you in or – with one flick of the fingers – erase you out. Love can be a narrow alley of ambush or that shortcut to paradise allowing more years to indulge in it. Viva amore!! 🙂 Next opine: when bamboo turns to oak branch.
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