hinc illae lacrimae (poem)

A world of grief and pain:

Flowers bloom;

Even then…

-Issa (1763-1827)

Today, a man and a dog were hospitalized

Two different facilities

For two different struggling body parts:

The former for lungs

The latter for stomach.

Nothing much has happened

Since you left.

A coarse page covered with

Too many words became illegible.

The guitar bore thick

Layers of dust.

Well-intentioned affixes

Detached from their roots.

The same recipes

Cooked over and over.

The man, my brother

The dog, my brother’s

If time bent years into hours

Hardships tumble atop hardships

Just behind this house

A day in a forest collects

Multitudinous tragedies

And deaths:

Pupae devoured, larvae devouring

Torn warblers’ wings

Splintering bones

Rotting root after root after root.

It is not trite to regard

The beauty and medicinal life

amidst suffering.

It takes work.

A nod to the

Oregon grape, wild rose, bee balm,

Ponderosa pine, lichen, gambel oak,

Purple geranium and dandelion

First involved the effort

To arrive.

The day is ending and

The dog is home

New diet, a bottle of pills

With lungs not expected

To strengthen, my brother

Will return tomorrow

For awhile.

Still, a fresh sheet of paper

Slides beneath hand.

A soft cloth polishes

The guitar.

And l-i-f-e reassembles itself

in yet another

Steaming bowl of

Alphabet soup.