My life has started over at nearly fifty.

That’s how it seems. And I wonder

How much work I can accomplish

In the service of the Great Unseen

Before it’s time to go.

It is a comfort to realize

That life will soon be over.

Think of it. All that we think we are

Is temporary. And yet I suppose

If you believe that you’re “all that”,

Then the thought that it will soon end

Is not so comforting.

The coming world is slower

And as we slow down,

We will rise

To meet the angels

Who have time to spare.

But you knew that. You knew

That all the rushing, toiling, pressing, and grinding,

Was blocking your other ears, your other eyes.

So slow down. Take time to listen.

The new world can only come

One hearer at a time.

There's usually a little real

In the midst of pretense.

And where there is any

There is hope.

Old Joe sits on the porch and moans,

Or rather, growls, but under his breath

As the storm clouds gather on the horizon.

He’s seen it a thousand times in his long dog life,

The white, the grey, the nearly black,

And he knows that it will rain,

Like cats and dogs,

Like cats and dogs

They say.

Why do they put it that way?

He doesn’t rain. He sits and stays,

And watches the horizon every day.

And because of that, he has seen rain.

Rain that drives the birds away.

Where do they go? he wonders.

Far away, he thinks,

But not old Joe,

He sits and stays.

Except for the time when the twister came.

It came on a day just like today.

And blew and blew

The house away.

And old Joe wasn’t there that day.

That’s why he’s here to tell about it.

“Come on, Jack,” he said. And I did.

And we went down to the dealership

And he bought a new truck.

The color was black.

The Interior was tan.

And it smelled like new leather.

We drove to the edge of town,

And past, to the border of our state,

And past, to the Canadian Border,

And past, through Saskatchewan, Alberta, and British Columbia,

And past, into the Yukon Territory,

And past, until finally, he arrived at Inuvik.

There we boarded a ship and traveled to the North Pole,

And past, into the hole that everyone knows

Is found at the top of the world,

Where the heat rises from the earth’s core

Making the water and the land inside so warm.

And there he stayed. He didn’t come back.

He became an inner-earther.

And the tribe made him one of their own.

And he said “Goodbye Jack.”

And I said, “Goodbye,”

And then came back.

Her backdoor opens out onto the rooftop.

And of an evening, she steps out of this world

And into the otherworldly light

That can only be found

On rooftops.

And she keeps it a secret,

Lest her neighbors suggest

That she entertain them there.

But one day, she thinks

That she will share it

With someone special.

Until then, it is her private portal,

Her sacred chamber,

Her hidden temple.

And yet,

I see her there

From across the way

And avert my eyes

From the sacred place

Pretending not to notice.

Come on. Let’s go.

Where?

Out of all you know?

Why?

Because it’s over?

Why?

I don’t know.

But I have bills to pay.

I know.

And a mortgage,

A career, and dreams,

And people who rely on me

To negotiate our little piece of hell.

I know. But it’s over. Let’s go.