17 Silent Echoes
If you could see out
the way I see in
the tarnished antique quiet
mossy, molding chamber of deep
seated questioning
you would see my mirth
and madness
see my pondering as hours flow
like wine onto a table pooling
red recollection
each and every molecule
a tiny vintage droplet
of a life
once lived and now elusive
each jeweled bead a
liquid echo and reflection
of self the way I am
peering out onto what once was
lost
amidst ruby spilling sentiment
where the walls are windows
and the windows mirrors
of soul to eyes and back again
You would see it
broken in places
but composite still
shiny whole in places
but deeply scratched
like a broken record plays a tune
warbled yet comprehensible
You would save
all your questioning,
harassing
wide-eyed longing
for you would know
as I do
there is no mystic answer
save One
Lucky is as lucky does
to this end
I chant the magic number
full of rich fermented Peace
heavy, ripe with charity
time and again
counting on hands and feet
to the Safe Place
where beauty is clean
pure
silent as a moth fluttering
in the sticky Port
of conflict and memory.
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