you do not know the duality of our being

whereas it is my most sacred understanding

of why we are here

and so you still sit there                                               

not knowing what you want to do 

with your one precious life

I can’t reconcile melancholy 

In this soft September sun.

There’s you, still, 

and the knowing.

An uncertain breeze 

whiffles the long hanging branches 

of the tallest weeping cherry in town …

I'm sitting still on the porch,

breathing in all my good fortune

still inhaling, and exhaling, still here. 

But the music of my mind is a bluesy 

passacaglia and fugue

with your face on it.

Isn’t it just like us to be all 

augmented this and diminished that,

all agnus dei and alleluia 

and no amen.