Secret Story of Love

So many beautiful people have
walked through my life, and vanished...
Only to reappeared in my stories, my memories, my day dreams.
I am old with a weight of
remembering.

I will go alone when I die, happily into a new unknown,
but alone,
saving only a secret note that I will hide in my shoe
to remind me of a few things that I must remember,
As
my childhood family of nine around an oval country table
three times a day

So long ago...
stars at night, weeds in the garden,
fragrance of corn, and
how a leave moves in a breeze.
Taking with me only church twice a week,
listen great things,
windows open on hot days and nights
to a new universe.

Names on my hidden note of college professors
from my youth who listened, taught,
spent their own heart beats to
give us Socrates and Plato
and so many giants of the Earth.

Write down and hide in my other shoe a long list of
fellow students
who sorted theories, danced, shared, acted in dramas, and
created art and surprise.
Mary Andrea Arnold, Gladys Greening, and
so many more.

That is all I need...all
except my military co-adventurers,
no war, no violence, who walked around tools of violence,
worried, laughed, explored with kindness
the dark side of the human soul.
But then, may I include my own students?
Let Vicki, Jerry, Lisa, Jill, Nick
stand for so many bright morning stars
who taught the teacher.
And include my adopted children!
Song, and Ty recipients of a thousand bedtime stories and who
saved rocks from the river
to their large personal collections in their rooms.
.
Am I saving too much?
Mexico is a beautiful woman, kind people, Blanca, Anna,
mountains, dancing under the Moon
so many times.
Let me include philosophers I met along the way
Merlin, Greg, Bruce, Brian, Richard, Ettore,
And poets, yes poets: Steve, Father Minh Dang,
and so, so many more.
And when I arrive, I will take the notes
out of my shoes
and read such a story of
love.