Rodentia Mortis

Trail dead center stopped.

By what fateful act

Of god or foe

 no tongue can tell.

Perhaps simply the unraveling

of life’s weave.

Fragile crush of body

like some @ mark cold-cocked

for being bastard child to true grammar,

Coarse hair scorch-black-orange

of crème-brulee 

driven by hot blood’s pulse

after scent and flicker

of this living 

here~

end of the line.


We too arrived here pause

To wonder at your freeze frame

Punctuation against hard-pack

California earth.

And in case essence

That should not linger does

We press lightly against

Shut eyes

coins of our words 

to speed your way:

“You, my friend, were an excellent digger”

These few tokens offered,

indulgence bought against dying alone,

secret hope in heart’s deep chambers

of similar benediction, usher

to our passing

when that day comes.


We turn, thus, and lift eyes

To broad western pine

Standing its vigil the next ridge, 

To brooding face of December sky

Familiar and inscrutable,

To all possible destinations

before us still.

(December 2010, Berkeley, CA)

(510) 704-1351     jamesryderyoga@gmail.com