In My Pocket

Feed me.
Nourish the soul that was given to this body
and move me from this languid pool
of dark water and a mind that hides in fear.

Let the horses of your heart
nuzzle my hand
coaxing the sweetness
into spaces I have forgotten.

I hear the beating of hooves of knowledge
gallop to the edges of the fields
where poems and purple clover
gather in the cool shade.

I will walk slowly
so as not to panic the beauty
into running.
There is a single apple cut
and waiting
in my pocket.

Falling Fragrant

Your florid absence overwhelms me tonight.
Petals falling fragrant to the floor in disbelief and invite
this cudgel of losses to be evidence enough
to set me to weeping.

The privileges of the snow
seem effervescent as we stare
silent, without a single sigh
into the vastness of blizzard winds.

Be brave and turn your back to the storm
while you curl in with all the flutes
and with the unlikely preditor
who will consume
your beating self.

Devout in the Winds of Constant Change

The little feathers at the back of my neck
bristle with electricity as the storm approaches.

These soft fibers of the body
blush at the tenderness in the gaps we finger,
surprised again,
in the armor
we pretend to have.

Until I try to resist
there is no way to wrest
the thoughts of kindness of your face
even as it shines black
with the sin of the world--
casting out evil with a smile.

Death keeps knocking
and inviting us to join the festival of leaving.
Sit here with me and pray for another day
to dance slowly wrapped in the peace
of our protectors.

This cloth is sacred as it unfurls
devout in the winds of constant change.

Soul's Children

Lighten this load.
I wish to be free.

To lose any ties
that encumber my dancing.

After all, I am armed with laughter
when the weeping is over.
I will shake the heavy burden
until all the layers fall away.

For a smile
will breach the darkness
of any sorrow.

The shaking of shoulders
trembling with the hope of humor,
we find the spaces we make
between life and the marrow of our bones
is the birdsong,
the worksong we learn to sing

when we remember
we are not alone
with the prayers of the faithful
held in the embrace
of the soul's children.

The Bones of Lonely Places

Let me sit here at the edge of a cliff
watching the world from this high tower
and feeling the gusts of sorrow,

bereft and empty
knowing
nothing

but the bones of lonely places
is as close as my skin
and as deep as a lifetime
that waits for kindness
to arrive without ever knowing
the comfort of a single word
of forgiveness.

Bury me under the memory
where we all forget
to reach out and embrace
the stranger
who looks us in the reflection
each early morning.

Praise for Losses Found

The vestiges of my days
are dreams,
a chasm of losses
caught in the shadows of the mind
like silences between the wind
and the cold darkness of winter.

Walk through the melting snow,
crisp and crunching under foot
as if this time I will not be left behind,
as if someone misses me at the end of the day
and fills the pilgrim light of the lamp,
so that I might find my way
with words and the vessel of my faith,
and I am welcomed into the warmth
of the communion of breath
and take to singing
these sustaining hymns of praise.

Unobscured

The smile on my mouth curdles
as I imagine the ways I have been fooled
and my thirst for something like grace is denied

Dawn, again and again, unable to lift the sun up
over the horizon until golden light that glows
bursts like a floodgate bringing spirit
to the shriveled hearts and minds that
want the smooth coolness of words
or the comfort of a hand
to a burning brow.

Instead the sky is ablaze with darkness
and stars that blink out
like bulbs that pop into a quiet death
that only the keeper of that source  of narrow passages
is released for a day in the unobscured sweetness of these milky landscapes
and morning that is awake and rejoicing with hands placed over
the heart.