On the Day the Calendar Ends

On the +day the calendar ends+
I will meet you near words
that mean something,
say words that matter
as if they were vows read
in the table of contents
and in the next chapter
we are not afraid
to turn the pages.

I am hungry to hear this story of joy
as it flows like a flood
from the mouth of the river
held quiet in the silence of a dam,
the pool behind forcefully insisting
the boards be let loose
just in time to claim each moment
as the deluge of laughter
spills over into an ocean
of moments worth living.

When you watch the sun dip below the horizon today,
earlier than it has any other day in this year of sorrow,
find me and tell me that you want me
just as I am
and I will believe
you  might be right
about infinity,
that masterful master,
learning to rest
at the edge of understanding
and in the company simple kindnesses
of the hope of tomorrow.

Prayer for a Bad Day

You train yourself for courage,
that mountain of performance
at the core of searching
that makes you feel like a guest,
and not a resident,
where ever you go,

searching for a place to call home
when there is nothing but double the pain
when you fall helplessly
engaged in so many losses
no matter the color of the walls
or the hope of a single white curtain
in the breeze  near the open glass.

And now I offend you,
a slap in the face
by omission of another simple word,

not out of malice, but rather,
out of all the deaths I have suffered
without learning how to right the wrongs of the lines on your face,
how to ask for forgiveness of sorrows caused by not turning the corner,
how to slip out of the sweater of night where you wait for me
into the cool shining of the sea of your kindness
and learn to swim strong next to your full strokes
without fear
of the undertow
that will eventually
pull us all under.