Originally from Cleveland, Ohio, Mark is now a resident of Santa Fe, NM. He enjoys woodworking, fine wine, electric blues music and spending time with his family on their property of 13 acres.
Attentive to the dark, the wind interrogates the peach tree leaves and violates the junipers. A thunder in the distance adds its measure to the wind, this locus void of any mortal din. Ahead, a little artificial light indicates a hint of human life, another evening consequence upon this water colored canvas, a darkened weather now internalized. The sky now indigo, the quiet here retains a value greater than a gem, silence always a strong economy. Without a notice wind has left and coming fruit’s alone with stone.
Four directions, four dissimilar skies: a brightness left uncovered by the clouds-- as if a winsome child were born from ripping seams of painful marriage-- defies the turbulence out east. North, it’s everything dark, like one’s abyss, a mouth incapable of parting lips. The west, indifferent to its neighbors, is calm and clear, a woman with a scarf who never leaves the house. And south, where afternoon had worn bright baby blue and twisting yellow ribbons in its hair, plays politically correct tonight, weaving dark and light left and right.
Rain coming gently down as only rain on dim perimeters can make a pleasure song, make dark soft, opulent, upon gutters, rooftop.
More love is falling down, as only love on rainy mornings brings a child to mother’s outstretched arms, her sympathetic heart.
Mother, as irreplaceable as rain. Rain—harder—coming down. Don’t leave; patter upon my frail peripheries until you saturate my soul.
Scholar of Darkness
In light, among the happy shouts of children, the Ferris wheel and roller coaster screams, popcorn, pretzels, little pieces of doubt lost in confections, carnival laughter, batons are tossed into the air. It’s hot. Rings are aimed at plastic yellow ducks. The wife’s cosmetics brighter than the sun, rosier than the afternoon and red enough to blot a husband’s circumstance.
Scholar, Ph.D. in Darkness, find the demons scrawling within, away from carousels, the horses neck and neck, convex mirrors, a labyrinth of doors. Sunlight itself cannot find them. Demons come out at moon, when emptied bags of candied corn are blown into the vacancies of amusement parks. In seeking certainty savants confront the shadows cast upon erroneous thrones,
and separated soul that never came back home. Confronting them in dark’s the only war that’s meaningful; that lightens twenty dead men lowered into twenty graves. Scholar, dangle mirrors in front of each of them; these reflections retaliate and slay the Eve- and Adam-heavy emptiness until each demon catches flame and burns so you can live in calm shadows of peace.