WARRIOR

There is a place where water lies in pools
resting before it picks up speed, flowing
over the tail-out and spills into the rush
toward the white-water chute.

Like water we enter the calm where we
hold our lovers close and rest for a
moment of our memory.

For that moment when loves passion
overtakes us there is no thought of tomorrow,
no thought of death, only the taste of urgent kisses.

It is the warrior's way,
a grasping for memories before
slipping into the slide toward
unspeakable horror and death.

After - when we are in the calm once again,
we are never the same.

FAMILY PICTURES

I see them standing side by side,
the walls separating them invisible
yet as strong as an oak door.
Not touching and never a kiss or
smile between them, only
outward to the camera -
to the world.

Those who would speak have long
since passed.

There are no concrete stories,
only ghosts that linger on the paper.
Pictures do not tell it all,
just smiles and pressed suits.
None of hands soiled with earth
or blood of Sunday chickens.
None of sideways glances,
full of mistrust and hurt.

Now only time knows.
The paper holds the shadows
until the light burns them away.

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