I was Singing

Some things you never forget, like the nickname bestowed by your brother, like the innocent comment that came back to bite you, like "what does the fox say?" stuck in your head. Some things are easy to remember, like riding bikes with your brother, like the intended comment that lifted a stranger, like "sing we now at parting!" sung in owl light. Some things don't stay with you forever, some things are gone, some things...

where is my brother?
what was I going to say?
(I don't remember what I was singing)

To My Wanderer

The desk is a mess
And I’ve read so many books.
All this knowledge just floating on my mind.

What good is everything I know?
If there’s nothing I can teach to which you’ll listen?

And music!
I’ve played and heard so much
My heart so full of memories and melodies.

Can I sing you a lullaby?
Could you be my babe again and hear my love in song?

I remember Grandma
Making apple pies and we were laughing
Why couldn’t I give you that?
Where are the memory strings that tie you to home and happiness?

I simply stand

I cannot write the world right now;
It seems too much to do.
I cannot write the desert sand
Or rivers running through.

I cannot write the garden
No apple, flower or bean.
I cannot write a hundredth
Of the things that I have seen.

I cannot write the moon at night
Or sunny summer days.
I cannot write the children
Their thought, their song, their play.

I cannot write one moment
One giant grand inside,
I simply stand with outstretched hands
And heart held open wide.

what learning is

pour all the learning you can on me
until it buries me and hides the light
pour out all your words of worldly wisdom
until I cannot hear the whispers,or the wind
pour out facts, equations, theories and thoughts
until there is no room for delight or serendipity
pour out scholarly journals, text books, newspapers
until the print erases the sun, the singing, and smiling
pour out education, elucidation, explication, and explanation
until they -tion, -tion, shun the simple and the obvious answers
pour out a pile of everything everyone needs to memorize, remember
until I have forgotten what it means to wonder, to be curious, to care
pour it out, all of it, and like a glass slipper leave the vessel on the stair
so that the son of a king will find it and fill it with the things that really matter

it may surprise you

under the bed
on the bookshelf
in the attic
hidden treasure
it may amaze you

under a pseudonym
on my mind
inside the heart
hidden treasure
it may surprise you

under white clouds
on a friday
in the spring
hidden treasure
It's May. Surrounds you.