Abundance sometimes Green
full, cold-water, facial submersion,
eyes closed, holding breath,
the park bursts forth with green leaves,
draping down from liberated trees,
and yellow—brownish stains of moss—
carpeting stones, with old writing,
words bounce from the headstones,
to the trees, to us, walking in circles,
stories bound ahead and behind us,
racing east and west on the train tracks,
hiding out beyond the south west side of the cemetery,
buried and un-buried with every body laid to rest,
even in the home, alone, the stories can leap -
from the laptop, recordings, and readings,
lectures and hearings, never ending it would seem,
the story of the universe yet to be told,
in a way– fitting for the ego of this universe,
she smiles gently upon us,
as we sneak more and more stories into our tired but curious minds,
knowing that she only gave us a few decades of time,
and with every story passing through our minds,
the ones remembered rekindle all the past souls,
whose values again become emboldened.
The stories like food, break down into fundamental pieces,
details and values and sacred life secrets,
and the mind expands out all it’s dendrites,
to soak up up and up the light waves of the universe,
and the person becomes wiser and a little bit calmer,
as life and death become a little less of surprise,
and more of a playground of never ending design.
