Before We Fly

Robins gather together
like we do
sensing the end
of abundance will arrive
soon

breath cold
and shivering together
like we do
in the darkness
lonely

Our breasts,
once bright as feathers
and full of hope,
are fading
and falling
silently.

Where we are going
there will be stars
and moving winds
and rain
like endless love
before we fly.

Lighting A Candle

It is simple.

Light a candle.
Let it glow
in the window
so that love
might travel
to the heart
of the one
that is leaving

and pray,
pray,
pray.

Let the simplicity of a welcome smile
walk with confidence on the same path
where kindness of gathers
around a table open to grace
holding the hand of the departing soul

and prays;
prays,
prays.

It is simple.

Light a candle.

Pray.

The Hopeful Heart

In these well used bodies
we can no longer do it;

fill the fallow spaces that were once vast
and fertile fields where the soul played God,

fill the senses with the wonder of electric storms
and bees buzzing with yellow pollen,

fill the air with deep vibrations,
the voices of violet pleasure
and whispered secrets to the Divine.

But the hopeful heart and love that dances,
laughing in these tattered spirit shells,
dreams abundantly outside the garden walls

no longer confined or taken for granted
like an unattended vine.

We lovers are eager
in the husky fruit of our imaginations,
farmers cultivating earthen joy
silently in the early morning sun

before the heat of another day
wilts the white petals of our courage.

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.