Paul Davis Ascension In time’s elongated choreography, my senses carved all that was known into recognizable shape. I was kind to animals, gave humanity wide berth, loved a few people well. Light from the sun, longing questions from stars, the grasping great moon of November, drew answers from my looking. Trees with spring buds, snowladen like layers of white linen, angular and majestic, gave me growth in a kindness of wisdom. But no human can know another without missing them first. Forget me as you knew me, remember me as an interpretation of the world. Remember how I blew out candles in the dark summer night, the orderliness of my underwear drawer, how seldom my bathroom was clean. I walked on solid ground with you, shared words of breeze and brick; we became expansive sea. At the beach-edge, I ascend into the drowning resurrection, nonexistence will not contain me, I will swim in waves of eternal remembrance, nightwater weeps the natal song.
Paul R. Davis was born during the Truman Administration, has been happily married for 35 years— to the same wonderful woman the entire time, is owned by 4 cats and 9 parrots, lives between the equator and the North Pole, and has been sparsely published in print and online publications, including The Comstock Review, Comrades, The Externalist, and Hot Metal Press. His simple poetic philosophy is: the joy of expression and the necessity of communication. Contact Paul (rijj@verizon.net)
“Gulls in Flight I & II” by E. A. Hanninen, 2009
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