Gray day

My brain gray

Matter of fact

It’s a fictional day

I’ve made it all up

Not one word of this is true

Every part of this is pretended

A toy

Gray to blue day

Gray to blue brain

Matter of fact

Not one piece of this matter

Is factual

We are fictional creatures



Lynn committed suicide. My wife was gone, as a flower goes, as everything goes away. I found her in the bathtub filled with red water, the razor floating next to her beautiful face. That was my first meeting with peace upon her face. I sat there holding her hand crying, my lungs filling with screams that never came out, and as I starred into her eyes I had finally felt love.
Another hand was pulling our hands apart. I softly said, “No.” But nothing came out. The same hand now held my hand and a man came into my vision, looking at me with an expression that had seen me before. “Do I know you?” I said. The man’s lips moved but I heard nothing. He tried to help me up. He said something else. Now I heard something but couldn’t make it out. I looked at him wondering why he was in our bathroom. “GET OUT OF HERE!” I screamed, and then softly, “My wife is taking a bath. She’s happy.”



The day was ordinary, repetitious. We occupied ourselves with routines, pleasure and pain. Then came an ending to the ways of comfortable passivity. We tried to repeat the past. At last we failed, so beautifully we failed. And in failure, still, we wouldn’t grow from the sorrows and the light, the light that we cradled so commonly. Each one of us went inside ourselves, desperately seeking refuge. But there was never such a place to find away from love. Blindly there was a continuum of escape. Birds merged as one falling to our feet. The sky changed from blue to pink. The moon never came again; only the sunlight stayed the way it was. Water turned to pink. Mountains went back into the Earth. The wind felt like flowers within our skins. And still we shoveled within our places of this Earth for dead places to hide. Love was in the changing trees. The air went away with love. We held our breath away from love. Dawn was constant in love, the ocean gone with love. Violet clouds hovered above the violet desert floor. No more was there the color green. Pink covered our eyes so that we may see love. And we continued to repeat the past, did all we could to create an illusion to stay alive in, to die in, alone with love filling our bodies with the truth of its soul.