i want to say my last goodbye in the comments of this vashti bunyan song,, but
an elderly man has gotten there first and he says,, i danced with my
wife to this song before she passed,, he says,, look how time
passed us by,, he says, we buried her beneath the wisteria tree & every night
i feel her ghost vis,, but he says no more
the read--more has cut off his obituary

and surely i could expand the text and read the rest
but reading is a remembrance and i do not remember
this man or his wife or their wisteria tree;;

i remember roiling summer days,, and crickets swinging in the swaying tallgrass and
how i would climb the rocks in that grass and say i was king of the rock and
the crickets and the field and the whole damn world,, pointing crooked fingers to
the sky challenging anyone at all to fight me for my throne but of course

no one ever did.. no one fights for kingships anymore,, or they do but all the little
kingdoms of the world are of no concern to me because kingdoms have become the
comment sections of vashti bunyan songs and i imagine taking his lady--wife’’s hand

leading her ghost out of the wisteria’’s shadow,, away from these kingdoms
of men,, swordless,, bare stones undisturbed in suburbia and i imagine laying with her
in the grass ocean same as childhood’’s palanquin i imagine turning my face to the sky

so blue and no gasping,, but maybe the sunlight would hit my eyelid just right and send
me into a time when all would be same

but different