Wednesday, February 8, 2017



Be
side
the still
waters, swept
Enraging currents,
newly ever-cycling eddies:
I cannot walk through this valley, and I fear to swim.
Ground unearthed into this churning,
the water's surface
the only
place left
to
Stand.

Saturday, January 21, 2017

One
word
forward,
two words back:
Our stories untell
themselves. Words slip off our tongues, back
into our throats. They stick there while we try to make up
the story of our unmaking.
By the time we are
through, I'm not
sure who
we'll
Be.

Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Love
is
feathered,
shapes the air, 
expands to cradle
the space we share. There's room enough
for you and the soaring wind, pressing against your lungs.
Grow into the weight of light, fill
all you can, only
with welcome.
Fill all
with
love.

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

It
is
We'n'sday,
when forgotten
words hold forgotten
letters. Still, we carry them all:
Aeneas, Anchises, the statues of their statues.
The tower wobbles above us
as we flee the flames.
We always
forget
some
one.

Thursday, October 13, 2016

One
grain
at a
time, slowly
they lay their loads down,
return again into the ground
to gather more. The tunnels deepen. The ant nest grows.
These boulders they hoist, numberless
as stars, are too small
to count. God
still sees
them
all.





Monday, August 29, 2016

Leaving

The oaks have been good mentors over the past year. I will miss them.

They tell me not to worry about it. I am trying to listen.

They also tell me that no matter how well I listen, I won't ever be a tree. We're migratory creatures, some of us more than others. Few of us flit around quite as much as the blue jays and the cardinals, but we all spend our lives skimming along earth's surface. This, too, is okay. The trees reassure me that humans are fine and lovely creatures with their own kind of wisdom.

I get the idea that they aren't entirely clear on the concept, but they take it on faith that we exist with a life as rich and vibrant as their own. That is enough.

Their ignorance has taught me as much as their knowledge. Out of all that there is to know, we will always be ignorant of most of it. I had better learn how how to become good at being ignorant. I had better learn how to reach into the dark with fearless love.

Trees are not afraid of the dark. Half of their life is hidden in the underworld, where earthworms nest in their branches.

I am not a tree. The dark of the earth is for me a place of death, and I am not strong enough to feast on unfiltered light.

The oak trees spread above me, mediating glory, and beneath me, recieving burdens to great for me to carry. For them, it is no burden. It is the stuff with which they gather light.

And now they urge me on to go do likewise, but in the human way, spreading my roots into migration's deep rich heritage.

Saturday, August 27, 2016

The
pure
in heart,
beautiful
earth between their toes,
shall surely see God reaching down
to wash their feet with tears and purest oil (you are clean), 
shall surely surely see God through wild hair
streaming down to wipe
away all
tears, find
them
clean.