(1) The Light in the Park

When I got to Allen Park, this morning, the sunlight was streaming down. Through the landlocked canopy of maples and conifers scattered there. Across that oddly-sequestered hillscape within the town.

Most times when I've been there, of late, it's been empty. Except for the trees and their shadows which, in their highest parts, move with the wind.

There are, of course, the ghosts and it's with them that I hope eventually to speak. Just as I once spoke with their material selves. The ones no longer visible there.

And so I've decided that I'll go there again and sit, as I once did, beneath the trees. Beneath their broad canopy and the intermittent light, which moves. As I shall move, beneath them there, as well.

As carefully and quietly as the shadows. Seeking that place where I may hear their voices...

LPK
LiveJournal
7.4.16

(5) The Living and the Dead

And if I mingle them, unknowingly, the living with the dead, I hope to be forgiven.

And if I have misplaced their names, inside this aging vessel, I likewise hope to be forgiven.

For with these words I hope I've made a place, beyond this moment, where they will be remembered...

LPK
LiveJournal
7.4.2016