Dead Men Talking

They are dead men talking and walking a lie,
As only dead men know what it is to live without life.

Dead men speak words that never reach the fruit of being,
Because dead men can't enjoy the rapture of real seeing.

They are dead men content in their dead-waking world,
As only dead men confer stiffly in rust-laden words.

Dead men hear sounds in foggy-dim dimension,
Because dead men are confined to black-and-white pretension.

They are dead men who will cease to be, no understanding of eternity,
As only dead men don't know to want something so full and so pristine.

Dead men are wholly unfamiliar with hopeful excitations,
Because dead men can't feel with their weak-pale heart simulations.

But if dead men discover how to talk and walk in truth,
Through dead men comes the seed to save the whole world.

Skye

The Isle of Skye feels like the end of the world
Where the horizon meets the moon
In a cloudy world of togetherness-
Like Inverness and just as green.

And if I may not pass this way again,
At least I have a frame from which to draw
The purest breath of air so clean
I can hardly inhale its precision.

Like the early morning fog that lifts
Only when the smell of fresh grass has moved on,
I am momentarily, extraordinarily
Sitting atop the Quiraing and watching
Flossies fall
Off
The
Edge.