MOVING

I am too weak to sleep
too tired to dream.
I feel mysef melding
with the earth
as a brook with a stream
fluid motion into something
not of my knowing
too numb to womder,
fading from view
about to splint asunder
my soul free to do
what souls do
cutting
into inevitability
leaving the rest of me
behind.

There stands a leafless old oak tree
silhouetted by a blank gray sky
in a field, alone as it can be.
For years and years I've passed it by.

It died, I guess, six years ago
without giving a clue to the cause
its leaves and twigs the first to go
then small limbs after a short pause.

And the sun set and then it rose
in shutter snaps on the dead tree
till now the bones lean toward repose
in plain sight for all to see.

No we are not bound to the
''blood''
in our veins
for each human it’s different
again and again
so an entity
7.5 billion we all remain
on this wondrous domain

Moving softly through the night
Whisper quiet in the sand
Eyes seeing in half-light
Bowie in his hand

A gurgle and a sigh
Killer holds him tight
There is a reason why
Killer's here tonight

Silence meets an others' ear
When he asks “Who's there?”
He looks around in abject fear
Not knowing when or where

Wide open eyes and shaking hands
Crawling skin that's dripping sweat
Death is coming through the sands
This one's pants are pissing wet