On the Shores of the Beloved

The supple skin of the ocean's twilight
flaunts God's variegated face with
waves of determined love.

We are only the audience
to this wide stage
waiting to be entertained
and purified as a baby dripping
with baptismal waters.

Leave this old life behind
and imagine the future
by the osmosis of the soul
into the many souls.

In that serrated understanding
we must make peace
with our very tears of farewell
like a bride finding her new home
on the shores of the Beloved.

Children and Their Mothers Will Walk Slowly

This city has practiced the evacuations
for decades waiting for the explosion
to cut with a polluted blade
into a sky that branches
toward heaven
every day.

Fear roamed free as a vagabond
hopping off the midnight trains.

But morning has come creeping in after the darkness
and the shop keepers sweep the walkways with determined vigor.

Now it is gratitude that fills the air
with silence that peals as loudly as a heron's joyful wings
as she lifts herself and all the hopes of the quorum
and the milquetoast minds
in a sigh of relief.

Children and their mothers will walk slowly
toward the edge of the river
and lift bright eyes to watch all the birds fly
to a peaceful night's rest.

End of the Year

Sometimes the expectations
at the end of the year
are stifling
when you'd rather sidle up
to the generous uncle
and his mirrors of impunity, the favored child
never held accountable
for the multitude of sins
that gather around,
appreciating the way he is disinclined
to tell the secrets
of the grueling work
of all our human frailties.

Walk with me, he says,
to the end of the street
to the grimy bus stop
and wait patiently
while the calendar folds
for the last time
and argues for the opportune moment
to breathe the diesel smoke
of change.