Skip to content Skip to navigation

Notes on the Return of the Lost Tao

for Bob and Kathleen
by Kevin T. McEneaney
Mon May 1st, 2017

That blue-black cloud you thought

was laboring on the indifferent horizon

then sailing above your head in a blink

now hovers gently like a mist in your lungs


and the cardinal that flew off

over to the ethereal blue beyond

now sits on your right shoulder

chirping about your odd future


while hot sand between your toes

still clings to childhood memories

as inseparable as the dahlia

wavering inside your head


when you sweep the patio of leaves

that fall helter-skelter hesitatingly

like the sun’s first orange rays


on the fleece of a white sheep

suckling on its mother’s paps

over the hill you cannot see


any more than the fox in his dark hole

who pokes his nose out to the cold air

as if retrieving a volume of old memories


that multiplies more wise observations

than blades of grass from the rolling sward

of a childhood hill where bird chatter

nattered like an eloquent beneficent drunk


lavishing praise on cloud-skimming dreams

flickering in the night like a candle

cradled by the one you waver for


like the echo of voice plaintively calling

just as Venus the morning star shines


piercing the eternal blue of its birth