Ordained

Sign me up.
Ordain me a minister
of all the love you can gather
in the pews,
down the streets,
on the buses,
in the market,
over coffee,
under the covers,
at the pub,
around the corner,
over the weekend,
along the river,
with the bread,
crossing the bridge,
serving breakfast with hot tea,
near your heart.

Ordain me
with hope.

Ordain me
with kindness.

Make me the keeper
of the love project
until all the light is gone
from light itself.

The Conversion

Why brandish your hatred
like a politician full of a fury
or like a woman calculating her escape
from a man opulent with fast hands and greedy words
that twist and turn the mind from innocent hope
to a deep and dark well of emptiness,
a cavity with no light to be seen?

Pull the mandolin
from the case
bright with joyful music
and play me a tune.

No need to sequester yourself
from the world
when the white dusting of winter
cleans the path like petals at a wedding.

Let the ugliness go.
Let the unseen hurts disappear.
Let the plodding pace of love win.

This is the conversion
we all can believe in.

Enough Light

The fire is hot.
Tonight the flames burning blue.
There is enough light.

Learning to Play

Mandolin Chord Book
Invites me to sing alone.
Making each string love.

More and More

Rain in January in Vermont
just shouldn't dredge
the beauty from the skies
with dark salt and slippery traps.

The pendulum of a fall
an invincible caveat;
bruises and scabbed shins awaiting
on the stone stairs.

Real danger scampers by
distracting us from melancholy winter weight
or a plastered arm after that stumble
you tell no one about.

The klatch down at the corner laundry will talk
and click the buttons on the umbrellas to release us
from all this liquid.

When the dam lets loose
we will rush into the cold
past our neighbors
like we are running from jail
and the guards are banging much to boldly
on the poor slobs
who will never be ready
for more and more sorrow.

Juggling God's Time

Each heavenly day
I have become a wistful juggler of God's time.

Even when the temperatures plummet
in the beautiful varnish of Vermont snow
I feel drastic thoughts
of green and apple blossoms
so thick with love
I nearly choke on them.

Today I grovel
in my prayers and talking to the heavens
while the sun sets pink and golden
with more truth than reality can handle.

Here is where I toss the balls in the air
all at the same time
and see which ones I can catch
and throw without effort
into the weightlessness of nothing.

Small Poem for a New Year

This trail marks a break
straight and directly driven
to the edge of joy.