Mine, race the moon to follow tall fishing ships
with billowed sails, gleaming in the moonlight,
across a silvery sea of hallowed recollections
to those sacred places that live within the heart..
Memories once deeply buried of salted fish drying on racks
in the lazy hot summer sun, past old long decayed
picket fences, with open gates, looking like missing teeth
in a mouth that has forgotten how to smile.
Past half buried old moss covered churchyards silent...
full of crumbling, tall black granite stones, pronouncing
for me their names, their beloved family names...
those who bid me come join them in their night
Just down the road ,there is a special place where
silent rocking chairs wait and gather silken cobwebs,
they beckon me to sit and tend those tallow candles
burned out long years ago behind the now dirty windows
Where family sat and waited, like silky black cats watching
for birds. waiting for a special one to arrive but knowing inside
the waiting would never end , waiting somber and still ,
while silent tears dried to rivulets of dust upon their faded faces
Tearfully, I reach.. trembling... my fingers softly caress
worn ecru portraits from my past, those faces that rise up
like ghosts to start those silver tears that flow like ink
across this written page, to record here forever