Gray Grounds

You don't have to be Icarus near the sun,
we can lay in shadows near the caves
from which the first philosopher shirked away.
Why should you near what burns, anyway?

You don't even have be Perseus near Medusa;
heroes die in armor while we have none.
Let others take the sword to bone and muscle,
why should you bear the blade that bore you?

You and I are Polyphemus grasping at wool;
they've taken the light away, the steel away,
the fire and the water away. Allow them
all that they can carry on their backs? God damn!

When the last ships have sailed, we have wine left.
When all that our eyes can see have turned to stone,
we have the well left. Water, flowing, breaks rocks.
When the sun and life itself dims, our heads lie on moss.

Personal Record

I told a friend over chat
how this were a season for flowers
and coffee in styro cups
How calendars are marked in red,
circled to remind about rosary dates.

This is the season for that, I'd said,
and that is a reason to stay.

The next day, she'd deactivated.

This is also the season for every
man for himself; find shelter
where there is a kind word, a mild emoji.
I could not see you, I would have said,
but I missed you every day.

This is a season that has lasted longer
than the changing of clouds.
This is a season that has carried with it
more rain than the ocean can hold.
Tonight is radio silence from the edges of the world.

I could not see you, I would have said,
but I missed you every day.
I would have said, I wish you well.
I would have said, take care.
I would have sent you a meme.

Epilogue

When I mounted the dragon years back

It shrugged welcome and soared slow.

It flew low, close to ground and nearly walking.

It could have dropped me and I would have landed

On my feet and with a grin on my face.

Yesterday, the dragon spoke to me for the first time.

“As a creature created by wish, I have never wished

For myself,” it said, “but, my creator, I have a wish

To ask of you.” I set my sword down to listen.

“What is it?” I said. I thought I knew.

We had flown close to the sun,

Close to the moon, picked stars, scooped lake water

In claws and in hands, bathed in it.

Instead of wishing for riches, a family, a home,

The dragon rose up and flew.

Goodbye it seemed to say as it disappeared from view.

In its place it left an egg, small and blue.

I picked it up and put it in my pocket.

On foot, I set off for home. I had never named it.

It may never return.  I will keep its wish where it is warm.