That old shell

That old shell of a Chevy 				
in the field down by the creek 			
became our base, our fortress,			
our refuge and our shelter.				

In all those days of story 
and eventuality		 		
even innocence placed its 
lost loves where we met, shyly, 
so long ago.  
		        We trysted, 
we parted, came together 
and parted gently again.						

We grew there.  We grew up there.			
We grew roots in our minds and 
hearts there that dig and search the 
soil there still, search for meaning, 
twine into leaning loves and 
tilted, quizzical glances,			
looks that say, “Maybe….again.” 									


And now the grass grows up through 
the floorboards.  Rust falls to dust 
the earth in a halo all 
around.  The blood of the place 
runs into the soil—our blood, 
our time, our labors of growth, 
the things we do and did that 
can not be counted as work 
and cannot be priced, all those 
lessons lost with the rust, leeched 
into the soil, washed from us 
like the sweat from our bodies,
like the mud from our bare feet 

when we ran like animals
through the field and through the creek. 


The rain patters on the roof, 
singing us softly into 
the night and we sleep.  When dawn 
comes there are bare drips from the 
roof onto the old rearview 
mirror.  They roll around the 
edge to curl under and fall 
down and splash on the dashboard 
where we put the candles the 
night before.  And we come back 
to this place, to this comfort.

I come here and you are there 
before me, that look on your 
face that says, “God, you're silly! 
Silly for coming back…..but, 
here I am again, waiting.”


Time and time, and—
God!  How it hurts 
to watch it go, 
to feel it lose 
its grip on you.


This space remains.  This space is 
never the same.  This space is 
never the same shape. It will 
not fit us anymore.  

coin of the realm

You can not save 
your life.  It is 
not yours to save.

No one can save 
your life.  It is 
not theirs either.

It is not yours 
to own.  It is 
not your own.  It 

is not to be 
owned.  This is the 
beginning of 

bondage and the 
illusion of how 
to be possessed. 

It was never 
yours to own.  It 
is already
all loss to you 
the moment you 
think it a thing.

A life-saving 
procedure is 
only a small 

procedure for 
delaying the 
moot loss of a 

thing you never
owned, that was
never a thing,

saving it just 
to later lose
what you never 

had to start with.
You can't save life 
any more than 

you can save time.
There is no bank 
in which to make

this deposit.
You cannot bank 
on it at all

though you can, it 
seems, bet on it, 
bet with it, bet 

it on something,
gamble it and 
waste it in so 

many ways that 
you can lose track 
of the ways in 

which you’ve lost it.
But wether it
is or isn’t

here or not there,
it is all you 
have to go on.