Raymond Soulard, Jr. New Songs (for Kassandra) - The ...

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“Hesitate little but hurryeth not! Heed well: an hour’s work for each
hour’s life. Neither less nor more.”
He sits back down, for just a moment at rest.
I nod, not knowing what else would show honor & agreement both—Rebecca hurries over
to him—she listens peculiar, unique to him—& ministers singularly unto his woe—uniquely,
where others neither try nor dare—
Loving her but wishing to be alone—a note handed to Mr. Bob:
“Beloved—
I need an hour alone—
All good between us—as ever—
Yours, Ray”
I leave with none a look back—walk out Luna T’s thinking: yes, an hour alone—or
ever—I walk out not fully knowing—
To have come this far urges continuing—yet doubts & doubts—
Reckoning Rd gives way to Main Street—a right-hand turn—street crossed & steps
climbed:
Cement Park. Ever & on—
I sit & wonder bluntly what matters anymore—
I sit & decide not to leave without some answer—
In my hand a sheaf of nocturnes hurried secretly along w/me—I page through them & read:
“Choose to be clear.”
& I think: yes I wish this—long have I wished this but not known how—
So: how?
Cement Park is as ever & I suppose in a way so am I—the round cement benches from
whose center trees grow—taller now than our shared years ago—yes—as am I—
a pen I wield in ways unknown back then—a life come to be unlike any I dreamt—any I was
capable of dreaming—
I long for friends, family, yet how often have I run from all these! & why? What blackness,
what demons?
My muse presses me on no matter the twists & rebounds of the road: ever she urges me
on—
The Cenacle | 59 | October 2006