ghosts

ghosts

did the years open vistas

where hope found a home

or cast shadows on your yellow hair

and you, the praiser

whose talented tongue

erected walls of lies

to deeds of men

i too deserved

and you, a scalpel's darling

and you and you

echo in the mindways

fading

i wonder at star crossings

and wishing well your ways

grant memory's reprieve

that met and sundered

we finally came to shore

lady tencows

Lady Tencows

They laugh, "A woman's worth one cow."

She, halt by her father's hand

and Mawmaw's cross-eyed bull,

was, well, worth less.

Bold-tongued,

opined about the length of thatch

and how the sun peers in our hut

to make a longer day

                                 and me

more of laughter's fool.

But she can read the stars

and mix a brew to tend the night

and tether sorrows

with arms that know the length of love.

They watch her on the path,

blinking at her broad-brimmed hat,

while she,

standing at the edge of all we know,

scatters words.

                       Ten cows I gave for her.

                       Ten cows was all I had.

in the woods

in the woods

i was broke

by a bad run of cards

so barney stood for me

we shared his cabin

sitting nights sipping jack

by his wood stove

while talking the world

back into shape

we drove ourselves part crazy

laughing through

what we didn't know

about women

he'd climb the stairs to bed

while drowsy embers

danced me to the edge of sleep

clear nights

i'd take my sleeping bag

to the long porch

and lay on a bench

until i blended in

once

as i drifted

into the heavens

an old ghost owl

glided by my nose

waking me

to the sanity of stars

out there

              just like me

price of remission

price of remission

want

and wish of will

won't wash the words away

that weaken bold encampments

and leach

               love's long slanting day

drop by wanton drop

the acidic sibilance of fear

                                       distills

soul scorn from heart sworn

flooding damnation on the dear

time's weary papyrus

rolls tight behind each moving hand

and when the ink of rage is dry

it's lost again

                    you understand