the distances between
and arms too old
to flap away
over mountains
over rivers
that ocean
those seas
how oh how
to cross
those distances between
other writing
Harry standing eight
he is up, up
swaying slightly
as if in a strong wind
though no wind blows
through the rooms
that make up his home
just the wind of memory
and regret
of lost moments
failed promises
and hope gone missing
from his door
following Li Shang-yin’s bluebird
there the path
there that bird
that leads the way
oh to follow
over brambles through bush
a clear sky overhead
and hope residing
in these weary bones
in this worn heart
a picnic: for Chuck & the plant lady
she said
let’s have a picnic
you know
a blanket and we
egg salad sandwiches
warm ice tea
crumb cake a thermos
of Constant Comment Tea
fun in the shade
of an old apple tree
plastic forks napkins
for you and me
and ants flys mosquitoes
oh what glee
ah life is so different
for you for me
here is now
you say
I’ll wait for you
but sadly I know
daysweeksmonthsyears
melt into one
no one waits long
for one who doesn’t come
for here is now
and now I am
following Su Tung-p’o: in the twilight mist
there in the twilight mist
we stand
our eyes in clouds
of regret
we grope forward
seeking rest
only to find the mist
too thick
for these aging
weary eyes
and longing
so heavy
on our hearts
following Li Po’s lead: to those left behind: on this Easter Sunday in Istanbul, 2019
you are all there
in dreams
our youth on display
strength resting still
in these arms
weaker with age
there is music
Mom dancing in apron
as she sings off-key
to Al Martino
my brothers my sister
nieces and nephews
that long extended table
Charlie Aunt Mary
Grandma’s raviolis
filling the plates
seconds thirds
the turkey the broccoli
sausage and peppers
coffee and cake
platters of fruit
peanut shells and walnuts
George playing The Four Seasons
Johnny teasing Robert
Robert sighs dramatically
into his glass of wine
and I laugh
oh I laugh
waking with tears
in my eyes
Easter Sunday
in Istanbul
so very far
so very long
away
that new horizon
rain rain
wash away
the dust from my clothes
the dust clinging still
to my eyes
let me walk clean
toward that new horizon
I see
following lines by T’ao Yüan-ming: early morning in Moda, April 15th, 2019
a flowering tree
outside my window
the sky a hint
of rain to come
the coffee laced
with whiskey
the cat asleep
on my reading chair
laughter still fresh
from the night before
and though this mind
no longer restless
my heart still longs
for those left behind
thousands of miles
decades ago
lifetimes apart
in this fleeting world
thank you
thank you
for my failures
how else would I know
who I am
and just what
I was made of
Leonard Durso 