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| The back patio at Dry Creek. |
I think I will mildew my day away,
mold, rot, grow fern & fungi out the side
of my ambitions.
Not much choice anyway.
Dry Creek caught in a coastal rain--
though the coast be a day away.
I know rain like my father's death.
The drip off the eaves
of his back porch
as I followed him out
to the damp garage--
the deep smell of motor oil forever
mixed with a long goodbye--
trips planned, then cancelled
around the storms raging
inside his body.
It rained too
the day after the funeral.
I took the long way home.
I had to.
I needed bleak, black coastlines
thrust from the spray of the Pacific
and spewed in piles of black rock
below 101,
meadows water-logged,
elk water-logged,
coats like Spanish moss,
rivers swollen gray.
I sped through towns,
even quaint ones,
like Brandon by the Sea,
wanting only the raw
landscape to hold back
ocean-grief.
If I was going to lose it,
I'd lose it under a redwood giant
& I did.
There amid the spongy
quiet that exists nowhere
else, I let out a great scream
instantly digested
by the heap
of life and rot
beneath
me
as the sun
filtered
down
through lacy
fingers
oh so gently.
The video, "A Rainy Day & Paul McCartney's 'Uncle Albert Admiral Halsey'" will be forth-coming. At this point, I'm a much better poet and the video still needs work--lots of it.
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