9:30 PM

My friends are getting married
and I'm finding myself.
The table is set.
The beer mugs are freezing now.
I give them flowers because they're beautiful.
That word slices the air.
The music is apropos.
This could be good.

Later, and the evening was bad.
That one word searched
for its blouse on my tongue.

She’s Like Antigone

I think of and view her as the antagonist
in a famous Greek theatrical tragedy.

I think of her in some
remote place either dead or alive.
If she is alive turbulent waters rage.

That year of my life is the distance
inherent to a practice turning to wisdom.

She was a mixture
of winter and spring,
a struggle for life at the core,
though not the end of life.

She’s like Antigone,
the ancient heroine who
chose her own path.

Her convictions were pure
and essential.

Despite the decree offered,
my Antigone knew me like
a concert musician
knows music in the mind.

It is because we sharpened our wits
and shared whatever that was pure.

It was a time of nihilism
ending in an apocalyptic and
self-serving affair.

I miss her.