It’s always the trumpet 
which hangs above somewhere 
near the ceiling up
high and slides slowly 
out of the door 
and then comes back 
like an anxious dog 
waiting for his walk
coming and going and 
coming back reminding me 
that it’s his turn 
the trumpet’s anxious loneliness 
to be free soon
invites and expects me 
to always follow it
on the adventure trail 

I greet him 
early every morning 
with a hand 
and a kiss 
both placed lovingly 
upon where he 
is found sleeping 
sometimes next sometimes
else but oftentimes
where he’s sleeping 
be he dog
be he boy
be he man 
they all receive 
that very same 
thing of morning 

I just feel 
like I’m so
much about everything 
that nobody can 
understand anything and 
that it’s best
to simply disappear 
and let everyone 
carry on about 
their business for 
no one has 
ever asked that
a dam be 
built right here 

I’m sitting in candlelight 
aside the fireplace thinking 
as I watch the sunset 
behind the mountains wondering 
with something as beautiful 
and as simple and 
as wonderful and astonishing 
as a sky that 
turns from white to 
yellow to pink to 
orange to blue to 
darker blue to navy 
blue and then midnight 
blue and finally black 
I do not understand 
how this turns into 
sadness and sarcasm and 
misery and despair and 
so many other horrible 
things that prevents them 
from ever seeing this 
and it breaks my 
heart that they can’t 
but maybe one day 
they will maybe tomorrow 
because the sun always 
comes back around again 

Having had none 
in recent memory 
I find some 
tucked in pocket 
just behind lint
down deep inside 
a crinkled treasure 
even a maybe
could be probably 
will but not 
and from behind 
my eyes cracked 
with age squinting 
I try to 
make out see
what if anything 
this memory was 
then I write 
just that here
what oh what 
will I do 
then the day
that day when 
I have emptied 
all my pockets