Mourning in Amerika

Burnt away is memory.
The waves of sea-time—-
A tsunami
Of last images,
Of last sighs,
Of last loss,
A gentle head dropped back,
A gentle hand gone still,
A sweet mouth silent—
Still its poetry,
Still its kindness,
Mute
Its infectious laughter,
And demons loot
The grief stricken heart.

Gone,
The final breath
Silent in the light of day
The way shadows make darkness bright.
And,
In that moment of the kill,
For just an instant,
A glowing light of life so still
Embraces death.

Why does it seem
In this dream within a dream
Rising each day
In this ‘as if’ play—–
The way of memory is lost once
And then again
In the archive past?

Once,
Two as one,
A hundred million moments
Gone—-Gone to the other shore.
While the mind loses its store
Of wholeness.
Oh, Oh, Oh
Those tears in rain.

What remains in the left over days—-
The last this,
The last that,
The last sad ways
Of an exquisite tapestry of love.

Burnt away is memory
While the chorus
In its softest tragedy
Sings:
“You will want to live again”
Someday,
Maybe,
Just maybe

Someday.