The Messenger

I knew a man,
was a messenger
from a high council.
His job was to tell
the world that we lived
in a great time. Once,

there were many
like him, but
as time went on,
the numbers dwindled
and their job became
harder.

“The land is vast,
and the peril high.”
He leaned over
a knotted walking
stick, and whispered
to me, “Son, I once
thought I was passing
on the truth. I knew
I was wrong when
I was in Spain
and I came across
the carcass
of a colleague picked
bare by sinister men.”

His voice was low,
and I could barely
hear him as he faded
from my sight.

He once told
men that we lived
in an enlightened
time.

hooded sweatshirt

I own two hooded
sweatshirts. I also
own two jackets.
While the jackets
may be stylish
and keep out cold
more efficiently,
I like the sweatshirts
better. One has
to keep track
of a jacket everywhere.
The sweatshirts stay
with you all the time
When I am inside,
I am a little
too hot. When I am
outside, I am just
a little too cold.
My comfort is
a sine curve,
averaging perfectly.

dance

Now come, we must bask
in the overwhelming
moonlight and tango dance
until we are consumed
by beauty and can hope
for redemption no more
only to know that the truth
lies somewhere between this plane
and the next,
on flight 814 out of Toledo
a Boeing 747 made
in nineteen sixty-four
held together by wood pulp
and ice, floating on the ether
while it skims our dreams
and we hold each other’s hands
and keep faith that it boarded
the right flight.