If my tongue could speak in
…that might say it all
If my tongue could speak in
…that might say it all
The group commences to sing.
Sun hides, air thins with cooling,
lean shadows go grey to black-violet.
Stage is set; I am the audience.
Their stridulation uncaps peace,
an elixir of sudden happiness,
and they are busy romancing.
How hard is the work of seeking mates,
the mute females invisible to me yet ready?
Love is not the point or the promise
not the favor or reward.
Songs rise and pause, stake out the night
with aggressive beauty, concoct a spell
I do not care to break.
Will the females not dare speak, are they
breathless with knowledge and mystery?
Heat lingers just beyond my skin,
music weaves among thickets,
stars beam with power and water stills.
Stolen songs carry my body, soul;
eyelids close for a flash of dream.
Love has meant so little, so much.
How simple to sing for coupling and
fear no–hold no–other expectations.
The crickets pulse with late summer, feel
my footsteps as I seek them out–
for good fortune yes, that, too–
and they fall silent as my ears shyly
wait for the next song to bring me
more gifts of this luxuriant night.
A remembrance of things.
A wholeness of life being lived.
The sweetness ripens in giving and getting,
touch like petals in hand, gaze spellbinding
as moon and sun, magic laugh no one
hears but trees, sky, you, her, her.
Life can stew and turn sour and
time pilfer much of value but this,
this will survive to sustain you,
a font of rich nourishment, a love
offered with abandon and returned
with ease and such small expectation.
This is a moment again
that must count for dignity
and delight, here now as wind sculpts wave,
sky and its clouds slink along mountain,
sand favors skin with reminders
of pleasure and ache, body-mind
singing and howling secretly
-life this perilous and sumptuous,
it can barely be spoken of-
as summered light sifts from earth
and heaven fleeting colors,
shifts the veil of infinity,
imbues you, you and you,
yes (drinking wild sea)
most fortunate you
Way back then it began with
big energy of desire behind arcs
of movement through flowery air,
your flash of bravado like
(at 2 you jumped in the pool and swam),
some cellular lightning rising off head and feet,
arms outstretched for the world and beyond.
No one knew in ’86 what was coming,
that such play and work with those wheels and board
would crest and carry into mainstream places.
This was strange outlaw living then–
you weren’t trodding a middle way,
alive at deep edges, the high heat of competition
never greater than when against yourself.
Heart of warrior, alchemical dreamer,
adventurer’s sinew and bone,
mind swinging open sizzling with joy:
you were so young and wildly brave.
Slight and intense, admirer of sport, I followed your progress
(breath held, police watch), cheered
each feat–more so incandescence of hope
as your passion reshaped air, time, thought.
You are older, braver, stronger, wounds knit
together into tattooed tales of loss and discovery.
You’ve expanded with things endured,
a richer faith, and every time you test bonds of gravity
that essence shouts, flies as you rise, fall, rise.
A circuitry of life imbues you by sculpted
propulsion of fire’s calm– your daily devotionals.
Still out there, and I yet watch (going grey now)
you skate with zero regret and a fine crackling of
laughter and sweat, mastery of gratitude, sheen of wonder.
(And still I hold my breath then let it go with the winds.)
Many still do not understand the allure and respect for skateboarding but it is a demanding athletic endeavor (it became an official Olympic sport is 2016), beautiful and fascinating in motion. My son, Josh Falk, has been a pro skater for over 20 years and has been on several teams. I have never regretted encouraging him in his passion. You can find many photos, videos, film and magazine feature info as well as his Northwest Skate products online if interested.
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