stories

cody awoke in the night.
breath bloomed above a pillow.
the moon howled.

“who is this?”
he thought
and arose.

he put on shoes but not a shirt-
walked down to tinker’s creek across
the hay field.

there, under the mountain ash,
josh looked up and smiled.

cody slipped off the shoes and
waded in waste-deep.

“you cant wash your past off
that way,”
said the watcher.

“how then?”

“bathe everything,”
he said,
“starting with me.”

the stars shone.

Re: stories

singing

cody enters the cave
in early morning.

temple stones lay
at the mouth,
mossy,
broken.

looking into the dark waters
within
he sees himself as many-

here the warrior,
there the thinker,
the labourer,
lover and

the poet.

there is a table there,
round
and overflowing with food
over which some
argue and fight.

the poet begins to move.

he dives to a cave within
himself, and drawing water from
its pools, he washes
the dust from each of his
friends’ feet.

he sings as he does this,
deeply,
softly.

cody begins to weep at this sound
arising from within,
and as his tears fall,
the many grow silent,
stunned.

each hears the poet’s song
echoing. something stirs within them.
calmed,
they dive inwardly in search of voice.

and there,
in the cool cave of their broken temples,
a poet begins to work,

singing.