ARIA

His Saturday morning chores

Are finally done.

The leaves have been raked

From the lawn

And the headlights on his car

Have been replaced.

It’s just about one’oclock.

So he comes home,

Doffs his jacket and hat,

And comes into the study.

There’s no teevee in the study.

Just a well-worn, welcoming, comfy chair

With a radio on an end table next to it.

He turns on the radio and it

Gives off a warm little pop.

And almost immediately he is greeted

By an opera.

The man settles back in his chair

And closes his eyes.

He imagines the opera house with its tiers

And golden curtain, soon to part,

Revealing a magical place.

The cold, brittle world sluices away,

Melting with every jaunty and ethereal note.

He’s heard this opera several times before,

And many others like it.

The opera has never failed to enchant and

Enrapture him.

His mind can’t understand everything

The soprano is singing,

But his heart does,

And that is all he needs to know.

For the next hours of his life,

There is no worry

Or concern,

Only the special contentment

That an opera can provide.

No one dares disturb him

During the opera.

This is as close to Heaven

As he can get on Earth.

First Thing in the Morning

Sometimes

nothing is

so sweet as

silence.

Only the

sound of

my deep,

gentle

breathing.

No noise

from the

television,

the radio,

the cars

and the

neighbors.

The sun rises,

the birds

chirp and

sing.

The breeze

jangles the

wind chimes

and rustles

the leaves.

And so

I lie there

in my bedclothes,

supine and soft,

savoring

the silence

of the dawn.

LIFE RAMBLE

I’m alive, yes.

But I’m not living.

The thirst for adventure

For change

For excitement

Is too great.

I need to walk

And talk

And fuck

And relish all of it.

All of this magic

That I possess

And the love I have

In store

Is useless

Without anyplace to

Put it.

I need to travel

And see amazing things.

Macchu Picchu. Everest.

The Great Barrier Reef.

The Grand Canyon.

My fear has held me back

From my life for too long.

I have sat on my ass

And watched the parade pass

Too many times.

Before it’s too late,

I want to hold your face

In my hands and

Kiss your lips

And mean it.

I want to dive

As far as a man can go

On a single breath.

Satori.

The need to touch

The beard of God.

No more fear.

No more shame.

Getting naked.

Screaming.

Swearing.

Sweating.

Until I am exhausted and spent.

Freedom from everything.

Uncompromised, unfettered love.

Life without death.

Ecstasy without embarrassment.

Life.

No more waiting.

No more watching.

Time to live.

Juno in Bali

Sitting around the bonfire in Bali

Watching the tribe dance and flit

Invoking the magnificent gods.

Suddenly a peacock appears

At my feet.

Where did he come from?

He didn’t just wander here.

I turn my head

And to my right

Juno is seated

Right next to me.

My heart grows miles big

And I want to tell Juno

A million things.

But she understands them all.

I haven’t had to say a word.

And while the tribe sings and dances and drums,

Juno’s heart tells mine,

“I’m proud of you.”

Then she wraps me in her goatskin cloak

And I feel divinely protected.

The things we don’t have to say to each other

Sing louder than the voices around us.

Juno disappears.

Her love does not,

And never will.