Cinnamon and Clove

I do not have a hiding place

Or ancient words whispering low

My lonesome walks are not a race

To hide a scar but to gently, let itself show

My dog is old and of one eye blind

But when he sleeps next to my feet

It is all peace, comfort and a moment so kind

That no pain finds safe harbor in the night’s heat

But still, as if the seeing eye of my old dog

I do sometimes look into that simple place

Where a name has found its whisper and song

To share with very few, as if a sunset dance

I do not have a hiding place

Just a name in which I often rest

And whisper

Low

August 29, 2018

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2018

The Choice

It was a choice

I did not make

Like sitting under a tree

In heavy rain

Or forgetting a name

But hearing the goodbyes

In every departure

And every sunrise

... It was not a choice

But I made it

To take away all future choices

Rainy days next to the bluest sea

And the name that remains uncalled 

For all memories survive sunsets

By choice

August 19, 2018

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2018

Finding the Way

To get lost while knowing the way

When the evening is warm and simple

To get lost because I still can

Stay away from a name 

To get lost on purpose, on a whim 

Because the way is lonesome and dim

When the moon is full

Of many faces but not of that name

To get lost alone, to get lost with no reason

Except to look for the way, the old way 

Where the full moon left shadows and scars

Upon the oak tree at the crossing of times

To get lost and find that oak tree

Upon its bark a name carved out 

Of hope that the way may get lost again

And keep the tree, and the carved name

Out of its way

August 5, 2018

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2018