A poetic melding of metaphysics, spirituality, release, and resonance lay reflective under the cosmos. These two voices, as similar as distinct, give heart to existence, in living and dying, writing out their chronic illnesses in evocative poems that allow entry to their constant battle. As expressive as Frida Kahlo in her paintings, these poems ache in their exposure. An Animism flows in consonants, as in THE HERMIT – “You will look to the moon to be taught.” (And I, for one, do.)
My soul felt such comfort in these poems, even when they dealt with dying, as if seeing that white light with its gentle welcome, so infinite, so fluid. In RUMINATIONS OF A MAN IN A FAILING BODY UNDER A PERFECT SKY, one accepts, yet holds…

A thousand black Winter birds explode from the leafless poplars.
And I am still searching for a safe place for a home for my hope.

The sad waning of lust and health beyond its love is lamented in DISCARDED CLIMAXES -

You once liked the heat of my body
dancing you to your own climax

The strength of the bard is written like runes in a forest of wisdom. It is not a warning, but a statement of what simply is. How a poet makes, breaks or exults in combinations read or sung. From LIVING NEW WORDS -

Vociferous, because of the power behind every word spoken is a storm;
I can tear down houses, or upon each phrase, grow a garden.

But what can one do when faced with the knowing? The limited, the terminal? What of our essence? The remainder? How do we secure that aspect to life? From COUNT DOWN -

I wonder how much time
I have left to write, hug those I love,
offer apologies.

In near dream state, where the wolves are merely a hindrance, these poems glow gossamer bioluminescence across seas of surrender. Glittering flecks of maybe with punctuated perseverance. There is strength in numbers, they say. Of these two, we have an army.

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