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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