Memories that arise when you’re healthy

When I find joy in watching someone else’s delight
I know I’m healthy,
and I rock holy,
and go walking about like a beatnik
wearing a smile that surly looks silly
and catch myself caroling with The Milk Carton Kids
covering Pink Floyd’s, Wish you were here.

When I’m healthy
and come across an old photo of myself,
I think,
that’s almost beautiful,
and I remember that I used to have a horse named Chummy
that I’d ride bareback down to the creek
and we’d just stand there watching the water
trickle over a beaver dam.
And I can’t even tell you why this seems so important.
I’ll only say that lost memories like these arise when I’m healthy.

And when I see a kindness I write it down
so I can publish it.
Because you said once that kindness needs our help.

And when I find love I pass it around,
because of all the times its been passed to me.

And when I hear the word mercy
I remember that you seldom speak it out loud,
only voice it by using your hands.
And I grow thankful
for the way you pull up all the weeds of cynicism around that word.

And when I come across a photo of you
I say, O now that’s beautiful!
and I see how your eyes have the capacity of sky,
how they hold such sorrow and such joy.

And I remember, years ago now, walking the shoreline
and you noted in passing
how a wave crashing on rocks bursts out clear light.