Angels and the Ocean

I met an angel just last year,
he told me that things just
can’t stay the same and I nodded
as we walked between red trees.

He always held a marble in his
right hand and told me not to forget
the little things, but I knew better
when the little things forgot him.

I have been drenched by life’s
rogue waves and pulled beneath the surf
more times than I can count, but the
times I’m on top are worth the fight.

We all run circles on a giant sun dial
chasing the evanescent hours of daylight.
Then when night time comes
we chase our dormant dreams.

Angels are just like us, because they
once walked here. Never sure of anything,
but the hands of father guide us all
into spectacular and terrifying lucidity.

Forgot

As I spoke to her, the hands,
the ones that used to pat my head,
moved around of their own accord
primping disheveled wedding white hair.

Zoe never complains, and fancies herself
a queen in that hollow nursing home.
She stills has nails of deep red and
wears night gowns with flowers galore.

But Zoe reads the first page over and over,
because her decaying mind can’t remember.
Flowers, books, stuffed animals, ornaments,
cards, and me surround her crisp full sized bed.

I wonder if she’ll remember my visit, but
she called me by name so I know that in those
old brown eyes recognition has yet to ghost.
She’ll surely tell the old hens about her beloved nephew.

I ache for Zoe, I guess because she feels no pain.
Nestled in her lap are her weathered hands,
and as she stares out the window I muse about
if her days of glory come gently streaming back.