This is my son, Jonah's music. . .so amazed at his creative energy.  Wanted to share it with others here.

Above Remorse

I am fond of grace
that arrives in the fountain
of my life
like a heron
arriving, wings stretched
and floating to the edge
of some shimmering liquid space,

above remorse
for his awkward beauty.

The valley of loneliness
is behind him now.

He sits quietly
waiting for the earth
and sky to spew wisdom.

Meanwhile, the light leaves us with the summer
like water draining into the pinpoints
of the stars.

Take Aim

Assume nothing
as you take aim
and look down the barrel
of your life,
cock the hammer
and slowly pull the trigger

with your breath
that steadies everything
standing abreast;
hand at the ready
if things go wrong.

She is the constituent
of your thoughts
that wanders
off the path
and begs you
to hit the mark.

First Frost

Shade your eyes.
The sharp light of the sun
is about to make way
over these hills
and explode into
another day.

The shrill voice
of time
will not stop
the ringing in your ears

until you shrivel
and fade
like these flowers
that stand cold
on the edge
of this first frost.

The Ministry of the Body

The ministry of the body
is a mystery tonight.

Sinew and bone
woven together tightly;
arms and legs entwined
and fingers grasp
at the sweetness
before it escapes.

In this rare place
the mist of forgetfulness
wanders past fear
and crouches low,
waiting for a voice
to remind us to speak.

What was seen
is now heard. 
What was touched
is closer to God
than any hand dares
to offer comfort
until invited
to this sacred table.

The Silence Between Us

I hesitate,
a coy mistress
of the moon,
and quiver,
startled at the sound
of my lover's voice
echoing
on the water.

This reflection
in this mirror of night;
the prize I have waited for

and forgot
I already
possess,

is the silence
between us.

The Trap

The space between bread
and the breaking point
of the profit
of a happy life
is smaller than the gap
in the foundation
below the kitchen sink

where another field mouse
shimmies up the pipes
and along some edge

of metal or wood
to make her way
to the crumbs
on the counter
under the toaster.

Consent to the heat
that will erase the stale
drought of the morning.
Slather the crispiness
with butter and raspberry jam
and ignore it all

until you hear fate scratching
in that dark place near your feet
and fear will drown
in a thimble
filled with
coffee
and sweet
cream.