Musings #39


Wanting to escape rule and wall,

he searches in the northern wood

for the one wild, true thing

he can never name.

Then, like a lightning bolt,

blood erupts –

drowning the left side of mind,

the side that spins our stories.

No longer oblivious – his word –

he becomes quick to cry

and grateful for the right brain’s

link and flow.

Brothers laugh together now,

a signature laugh that sounds

exactly the same

coming from each chest.

Another bleed leaves him


The heart of his mother’s ghost


With his right arm, he drags

his hampered form through

the lake, edged by the forest

he once walked.

With a left hand softened from disuse,

he caresses the forehead

of his blue-eyed grandchild, sleepless

from a dream of him dying.

Another burst vessel

– would he call it a stroke of luck? –

frees him of the cage

a body can be.