I t a l y

This poem is on my grandma & loss.

 

She notices that I've been here
For a long time at her side
Holding her hand and
Talking words which do not escape
When reason does.

Holding red flowers
Like a lover of everyone
Lost to no one
Under the glowing sun.

Brought into a new world
by spoken matters of concern
dousing those lost-in-thought
blue eyes that burn.

The shimmer of regret, abated
as life newly wed, in red
Created from devotion
Praying for an opening in heaven.

someone please
let me in
or at least help me
Make a soft landing

a pond of crystal flowers arriving
wordless ideals leave
How I cry, how he cries
How she cries...in that lost caravan in the sky.
The fog lights float
Over the Italian mirage, sheets of magic
twirl in the wind

she suggests some company
Perhaps a bottle of Merlot
The ecstatic purpose
beyond the illusive truth
of memory.

And happiness is a subtly
Her soul barks at the wind more fiercely
Than the babble of the brook
Running loosely between
My fingers.

All the information that I don't know
Those answers that seemed to have failed me
While she forgets faces and their smiles
Still she listens at the symphony
Of life, just happy to be making
One more cycle to infinity.

Sometimes trailing off like a bicycle
spinning like a ribbon in a hurricane
the sun passes into lost worlds
There's no such thing as pain.

She is painting all these pictures in bones-
the reality of her son
Where road leads to somewhere, this I believe is true
But each day will C r u m b l e
like golden bread crumbs
for birds in the morning

Forget me not...she says through the picture
I will remember her, I know this is true
But some days I wonder about her
and when I stare into the blue this comes to mind
There was something so angelic
in the room of her sky.