June, summer’s dawn

The wind steady

off the Delaware

in the Vietnam memorial

 

where I sometimes go

to do chi kung,

early morning Chinese breathing

for health – repair – rejuvenation

Medicinal more than Spiritual

Spirit still

the fabric, the meshwork between the cells

of experience, of incidents, between the living

and those gone late

 

An index card, protected

by a sandwich bag, is taped by one man’s name

on the cool slate wall

of names

I never forget you man

44 years this February

Rest in peace

Sincerely,

. . .

 

Other honors, carnations dry

from 3 days of ninety-degree heat

speak of lives half present, half gone

The illustrated plaques

tribute the fallen

— not the war itself —

A newer distinction

drawn from greater conscience, greater care

 

Slowly culture is awakening.

 

On the Delaware, a tugboat passes

Like a child’s illustrated book I used to have

 

Something is incubating.

And letting go

 

 

Spirit once awakened to

I believe can’t ever be forgotten

I call it faith

Simply because that’s easier

 

Though in my case it’s not really faith

more a matter of experience

Allowing it to be so.

To be as true as it is

 

If you turn this over in your mind,

even the idea that we need to examine our beliefs first

is at odds with seeing what is true

 

Memorial Day speaks of transitions not just eternity

Of lives and stillness,

Listening happens in the spaces inbetween

In the spaces where something is incubating

And something is being let go.