August Dusk

Fat hummingbirds feasting, flying like dust

on an eerily quiet Rod Serling kind of afternoon

melded into a hushed

color blended world as we talked through the hot August dusk

Shades of greens, blues and hot orange glow

encompassed us while we sat and watched the surfers below

A starlit night, my brother Chris

and the silver moon asking what has gone amiss

Five sisters, severed lives and scabbed over lies

His family he tells me
has broken his heart

Do you know the way, Nance, to begin to heal these tears of bond

Tears, Yes, say I, this is a start

but we both know there is no waving of magic wand

we must each
search wide, stretch and reach

our own transgressions, go where no one’s dared to tread before

to find the peace we seek, patiently waiting in innocent memories of days long gone

and genuine, shared vision

of respectful, loving seven

in the far but possible great beyond.