with and for Jeremy


Reality being magical in any moment
you witness it wherever you’re sitting or standing
moved into your lucid eye beyond either, seeing
into this anywhere living written-on-air poem of each
image’s hovering frequency, frame by frame emerging

photons pouring in as morning light particled with meaning,
life being uttered in its streaming, as it is—
ears eyes senses synaesthetic, beyond surreal
more real than real—your praxis, practice
no drunken boat either but a higher sobriety
that in your hand becomes an ecstatic compassion…

Real characters in all their dream, their dramas
like rapid sketchmarks, and in the plunge of your empathy
a psychopath’s knife, or a tender greeting kiss—
all that this human animal is
in its light and shadow, being here all around us

and never trapped, pinned in a moment’s monument
but freely phrased, unsystematized as birdflight,
always closer to life; your ear, voice, lilting to its rhythm

released to live as one whose name was writ on water
yours on fire, close by…
                   and because it’s like this

you toss each handful of glittering red party stars
to say so
                   your inimitable signature
gesturing it is this special to even be here

and for as long as each moment takes, timed to the second
before we’re called on to the next…
               call that poetry—

and call each poem the place we can be
fully alive and then fully surrendering
always to where the next moment is waiting
beyond pride or finality, or a laurel crown.

Beret aslant; mon semblable, mon frere, play on.


Jay Ramsay

after Pentameters, Dec. 1st 2012

Photo: Max Reeves



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