The lake

NaPoWriMo Day Thirteen

The lake produces

paltry waves, but enough

to take the dock from 

left to right,

front to back, 

and it rattles against

the metal poles

that brace it to shore.

We drop

our grandfather's ashes

in remembrance,

a pittance

to whatever god

carved this crater, 

filled it with water 

and fish and mud. 

Something

bubbles up from where

the packets sink - 

an acknowledgement 

perhaps, or

recognition of belonging, 

desperation to return 

to the surface. 

On a silver boat

NaPoWriMo Day Twelve

In a glass case

rests a silver boat

On a silver boat

rests the soul of a man

The man wakes

from time to time

and remembers who he was

The man remembers

who they were - 

the people that surrounded him

The man remembers

where he took them,

the man remembers

what he taught them,

the man remembers

what he built for them

The man remembers

that they remember him

Now the man rests

on a silver boat

in a glass case

and he reminds them

Morning

NaPoWriMo Day Ten

No surprise - the sun has risen

yet again, and at just the right angle

to upset my fidgeting non-sleep,

a brazen intruder in my room

who sets my splintered nerves alight.

What do I regret most? (Nothing,

none of this was really your fault.)

Your comforting words are an insult. 

What do I regret most? (That you 

were weak enough for second chances.) 

The wise among us say it is possible

to find mastery in your own undoing, 

to process the crumbling. But all I feel

is a spiteful itch - it has drilled inside,

beyond the most intrepid scratching. 

Neighborhood pine

NaPoWriMo Day Nine

There is 

an offhandedness

to this death, 

because

we know it is

temporary. 

I am not

unaffected, 

but a few spent

needles

is of little worry - 

I persist. 

All winter

they freeze

and harden, 

retreat

within themselves

until spring. 

I watch

their solitude, 

planted in

neat rows

as if beauty 

never

came naturally.