without hope of capture

i want to be sitting on a fence
in need of mending
where there's space enough
to wonder
the use of the fence

and looking
i want to be looking out
on land without hope of capture
by any poet
of its subtle beauty

and facing a breeze
that lifts hair from the neck
reminds of lack of urgency
for anything
when taking in life this way

i want this to go on
for some time
with sun going behind clouds
over and over
making shadows that travel
across the land like great animals
that used to roam some time ago

and hearing
i want to be hearing
in the way where the sound
comes to me
instead of trying to filter
or lend my ear to something
so much so

i want to be breathing
contented breaths
and step away
when its time

bottled feelings

if i could keep
on a shelf
in beautiful little bottles
the things i've felt
over my lifetime
i might

they'd line up
be neatly contained
each a different tint
from a unique time

they'd all be there
the wedding, during vows
saying i love you in the cold
under the moon
seeing mountains rise up
for the first time
in front of me

i'd keep them all
even the strongly
unpleasant
the ones that cause shudders
and the empty stomach dropping
feeling
i don't know why
but these matter

not sure what function
they'd serve
these remnants of past

but i might find myself
standing back from the shelf
admiring all the little glass bottles
beautifully tinted

remembering
it will pass
whatever it is

good friday

the pipes will drone today
for the death of jesus
it's called good friday
as a child
it was a taste of sorrow
humanity's brutality
thorns and wood
nails and blood
spears and vinegar
waiting for destruction

now
further from it
i know its not just bible verse
there's a good friday
somewhere everyday
in our world