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early morning rain drips Painting by Eric Busch 1998 early morning rain accumulates the sultry blue dreamscape where the living and the dead rehearse their dialogue broken like bread a ladder in tribute settles on the indifferent second story windowsill selected to be worn by the dead mother during her climb through the cream white ecstasy after death I press my cheek against the jumbled stone wall that houses some of her previous lives and in that peculiar voice that has no sound but sense and image I request a private audience a private audience with the concert pianist the Buddhist Hermit Thrush and the red headed chanteuse from the Moulin Rouge lime colored bedtime stories fade greener and dimmer pajamas through the courtyard erasing heightened desire into the dark unidentifiable chapel house whose candles bloom wild poppies marking the four directions bliss trails to emptiness wearing a babushka like an old woman I sweep the kitchen altar clean from delusions of the present I encounter two who do not know me the two who do better than an almost brother or absent sister release distorted effigies of the dead mother's earthly body that briefly block her translucence to cream white alacrity when I vow to continue to serve as the family death guide the distorted effigies immediately free her shallow reeds of corn mush light
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