Son

Son

An orphaned night rises over the saintly gardens of Bologna…
I am looking for you among these ruins that call themselves poems
Looking for you as if it the last thing to be done in this greying mist
Before dusk I have seen you moving as a thread of silk from a spiders 
Cloak I have seen you tasting water made of prayer and ash

And a little horse in your pocket
         Made of
                         String….
      The solemn world drinking at the 
Wells of indifference….

     Names falling out of the autumn

                                                           Leaves…

For michael 
10/25/19
Bologna

Between each spoken word

Between each spoken word….
A sacredness resounds
It’s quivering motion turning in a 

minuscule whirlwind

As the silence that glistens in a ravens eye….

Of what can never be spoken 
Watching in its spirit voice

Toward our yearning….

Toward
Our dreams
Our

Slowing lives….

Bologna italy

When light mirrors through

Where light mirrors through
Shattering glass….
Breath falls out of a crescendoing wind
Breath looking for its life

Bells of paper prayers burning where once
the sentinels stood

Trees calling to one 

another before 
they fall
Trees in their remembered shadows

Going away….

Amazonia rhapsody 
Bologna Italy
October 4 19