Intimation – a poem

It was that spring

when my heart slowed

I was dizzy.


It rained a lot.

I would be up alone

with coffee

on the back porch

and the sun lifting at a slant

would streak the lawn

like Van Gogh with new tubes

of oils slapping on lurid

impasto, I’d say greens but

the miscellany

could be maddening.


We were dropping like flies

my ears rang as if boxed

and the darkness reeled

when I’d get up to pee.

On the porch scalloped color

dappled shadow a lurid

radiance that strafed your eyes.


It struck me all at once

how it may be to go

that I may even sign off without regret

because none of this was for me

all just an inkling of how

profligate beyond appreciation

a suburban morning can be


and will be long after

my slurpy heart slows to a stop.

Some did not go gentle some lost their heads

or fretted impossible cures

and I imagine I may cry

over leaving this complicated heaven

amidst the sure disintegration of whatever

faculties had been mustered to appreciate,

dawdle, play.


But here with this oddly slowing heart

another option dawns, that a gift can be

discovering that you are done have

outstayed your welcome now

& your blue mama calls you back to nourish

whatever comes next in the dapple

of the stars.


Joey lay down on his bed.

He’d showered, his clothes laid out for work

and I guessed his wow as it all went down

because I would hope the same in my time

but I think now there may be this interim

theatre of lurid color and explosive flavor

of getting walloped on the head with

momentary gaps in the things we ignore

like balance & rhythm & flow.


Ears ringing as I stagger to a chair

take a seat and finger the pulse

sumping at my wrist an indication

of when whatever belonging

I’d imagined fails, when all I really was

tumbles into the warmth of a backyard compost

piled with egg shells, coffee grinds, and friends


I will go, cracked and ground like them,

and by then one can hope that will be okay

as if it mattered when

of course whether there is anyone

awake to see it sunlight

goes splash like milk

on the porch floor and chimes

tinkle tinkle in the breeze

and seeds across the lawn upsprout

their dream of Van Gogh green.