Monday, November 10, 2014

The strength of God shows through your presence.
Broken one, heal me.

The strength of Faith show through your words.
Dying one, speak to me.

The strength of the Word has made you Golden,
His wisdom glows through you now,
I write with words, and your peace, unspoken
gives me all--His strength, and yours.
Open me
like silence waiting
Open me
like rings upon rings
like a trapt door
like a bad lock
like something well hidden, leaving dirt under your nails
long forgotten, never discovered
like a closed book
like a sealed letter
like a strange, unlabeled box
I have never been open
and I want to know who she is.


Ice folds and I am found in winter.
Winter has grown to Spring.
Spring ended in fire.
Summer spent with little water
and now, exposed to
falling leaves, the Autumn season
becomes me, earth tones, golden weather,
time is slowing
and I want to know
what i have missed
what could have been
and might still be.


I was spinning,
spiraling down, my hands reached
for balance, and I grabbed you.

But we never stopped falling.
We flailed instead, hoping, seeking.

Letting go, I feel a sense of peace,
like falling snow.

Watching you drop away, I know
my body is made lighter.

Wednesday, October 22, 2014


The house sounds good.
It moans with the tide of the wind,
not a hushing sound, not soothing, more
of a rush, a remembrance.

Lying beneath the metal roof of the back room, I listen to tilting timbers,
the old croaks of days long past, of weather and wear,
and the walls whisper--remember too much,
and you'll become lost in this place.
No gust of wind is the same--
make the voices new--
make the meaning new.

Your thoughts are weighed by sadness and mist; a damp fog surrounds your forehead.

You are in it, but don't know it yet.

Standing in the fog, waiting for a light to pop and save you.

You're in it now--and the fog is in you,
slowing thoughts, feeding fear, numbing senses.

Don't try to react,
you can't wade through it;
just wait.

Friday, September 5, 2014

The Basin

To live always between two places,
pulled, moving back and forth
in our minds--the old place, the place of rain
falling down upon us, where memories swell,

and that new place, where sunlight burns
the skin 'til we blister
and our eyes are dazzled by
looking forward to all matter of possibilities.

To live within that in-between, like a trench between mountain and field,
seeking left and right in the gray skies
then standing still to breathe. Listening--
for what? The wind?
This lonely basin, this never-place, this now
looking back at rain, looking forward at sun
and feeling silence simmer on our searching brow.

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

And the honest truth is they let us down, not always gently--plop us on the floor after a sudden word and leave you there. People. They come and go. And you fill them up like houses, moving furniture around, helping sort things out. You try to offer - maybe too much - gifts and spare things like apples from the grocery store; you pick out shirts that would fit, the perfect place to put a lamp. Then you expect too much, a book returned, or a nice view out a window, a pretty corner in an open room where you can sit together. People. You let them in through the front door like honored guests and they leave through the back, seeing all their faults in you. We show them out, then take them in again, because they knock and the door swings open and shut.