My Final Thought of You

It happens often now, forgetting
the words but not the thing
itself.

This week alone the words cilantro,
Curtis Mayfield, actuary seemed
lost, erased.

You, too, are there in a slight daydream,
a glimpse of a waning moon
on a sunny day.

A thunderstorm rises from Mount Blue
not 20 miles away. The birds and I
find shelter.

The stream is silent, hopeful. My breathing
slows as I count to measure the first
strike of lightning.

© 2018 Bill Schulz

Portland

And they are eager to cross the river,
for the justice of God so spurs them on
their very fear is turned to longing
~ Dante, Inferno Canto III

street corners and pushpins     every landmark I know
underground bowling    alleys and bars     bars with dirt
floors     invisible I was alone     with my highballs
walls     glasses and hedges    shadows    lies

shots mug shots     hand in hand   I’ve known I’ve lived here
too long    streets looking backwards    vans at night and
take your meds    so long    so long say the guards    I
haven’t worn corduroys in years     now you’ve seen me

shall we live at opposite ends    and forget     islands
obscured by fog    moment to moment    and gone
as the world reflected    this wet parking lot    in stainless
steel     did I pay you    by the tracks     or not

© 2018 Bill Schulz