Peaches for a Pie

The thin blade of my knife

slips easily into the sweet flesh

of the peaches.

My fingers and palms

are covered in the thick slickness

as the skins and pits fall into the sink

and I slice the fruit into the curve 

of the blue glass bowl.

My hips lean into the counter

to do this quiet summer chore

and I can't help the thought of your mouth

that enters the dim light of the afternoon kitchen.

What my hands could offer

that empty fasting place

with one simple gesture

like priest to believer.

And in that moment of faith

I disappear into sugar,

flour and butter I cut so small

no one will notice

the stutter in my breath

as the shadow of awakening

slips his hands

around my waist

and whispers love 

into my ear.

Stone Placed in Palm Before Dawn

I place a smooth stone
in the center of my palm
before I walk
as a reminder of the place of love
from which I come.

The gritty surface of her cool skin
will guide her belly skillfully
onto the waiting partner
to balance and hold that sturdy structure
where sanctuary begins.

They pray together, embracing under the sun,
as their exact selves—
no pressure to be anything
but the vessel collecting wisdom
in the small spaces chipped into the hardness
like truth always manages to do.

Hard won reward
is the act of kindness they offer each other
in the quiet of this spirit place
and the eyes, naturally, stay open
to watch every moment bloom
on the alter of the soul.

The safe harbor of this beautiful garden refuge
is enough to give strength and courage
to the rest of each cacophonous day.