I Volunteered

I volunteered for the wounding
so long ago
wondering how I would survive
that much love.

No matter how agitated
or discrete,
I could not suffer enough
loss to make up for
all my sins.

I volunteered to ricochet
and echo through the silences of loss.
Nobody was listening.
Nobody wanted reflection
or silence.
It was a solitary assignment.

It was a smoke tower
waiting to see the first
blue plumes from the fires
hidden in the lush green
that looked like something
out of forever.

The Way North

Any quiet moment can be magnetic,
the world gone off on the usual path
of enthusiastic overload,
a fossil more critical and drowsy
than the bruised truth of any jealous lover.

Walk with authority
like a patient away from illness.

Open your guarded heart,
concealed and damaged,
who benefits from soft God light
like the soldier who shoulders
constant shelling.

The way north
is slow
and worth the trip.

Right Before My Eyes

The night is foggy and I feel the humming
of these splendid fireflies hovering in the fields
that analyze darkness and moisture's influence on the longest days
disappearing right before my eyes.

I can't help
but feel the longing of words
that might disintegrate
like sins in the confessional.

Each credible thought, each promise
disappears as if never mentioned
out loud.

All these secrets mature
and fall like a leaf
from an October branch,

forgotten and left alone
and completely silent.

The Lightest Hand

I am bargaining again
with the ambiguity
of my emotional cornerstones;

joy at waking to the gold finch
at the window feeder
is non-negotiable,
and the callous attitude
regarding the dynasty
of breath after breath;
a willing wisdom,
requires safe discernment.

Laughter will transpire
to overtake me
before despair or silent suffering
can find a foothold on the climb
out of bed.

The spirit of love
will not be deleted
or crushed into ash at my feet.
The essential nature of all kindness
is a contract written
with the lightest hand
in the ink of the heart.

Let Love Yammer On

Let love yammer on,
let that affection bloom
like a lily
out of the quagmire
of confusion and dread.

Let love tell tales of joy
and find amenable answers
to full bodied life
where laughter isn't forbidden
by the sins of a generation.

Let love cover you in the night
when you are lonely and want warmth
up close to your skin.
The heat of that contact
was once enough
to inspire poetry,
children made of souls,
and undefinable understanding of God.

Investments

Invest wisely in this gnarled world
and the engine of your heart
may find peace.

Invest wisely in the songs
that escape your mouth
and your temporary joy
may find a home with the birds.

Invest wisely in the people you call home
and you may find laughter flowing
and easy words and dancing
like every day is a glittering celebration.

Invest wisely in a lifetime
and you will find ways to terminate
the constant grinding of bone
against bone
against the stones
of granite days
that have always
managed to rain.

Jangling Truth

The rusting vestige of this body
is a gallery of so many bold mistakes.

This classic archway to nowhere
is defined by temporary bridges
and foreign phrases meant to insure
survival and little else--
bread and water for the crossing.

Bring me a coin,
some small talisman I can believe in.
Bring me a pocket full of jangling truth
that doesn't tarnish with time.
Bring a poem wrapped in securely in light
and I will believe
we are worthy
of the blue blossoms
of forgiveness.