The Emancipation of Joy

Tonight we celebrated time
like we knew about herding minutes into hours
and the grave is still the end of an endurance race.

We teeter each morning as we rise
hopeful for renewal
until you remember the moon that was pregnant with light,
subtracted from all the stars and the clouds raced
over the Connecticut River in a hurry
just like all the clocks everywhere.

This does not take away from any of the love.
This only reminds us how very precious
the emancipation of joy of a single day.

January Thaw

The temperature
rises and we feel such joy.
January thaw.

Poem for God

Before the day's end
Write one poem to please God.
Know that love is there.

You Will be Stronger

When the dullards take the wheel
and the elemental detour we all hoped to avoid
becomes the superhighway

let us remember like the disciples of Jesus
that this life is not over
no matter what the lummox in the front seat says.

Relish the sun on the face of the evangelist
you must become and do not fear the prosthetic
that used to be your heart.

You will be stronger for the uncontrollable love
you already know is present in the center of your chest.

Stand on the threshold of your new home
and invite the strangers in. They will become new
and all shall be well as can be expected.

Planning the Escape

In the evening when I have settled
ashen-faced and clean after the ablutions
at the end of the day,

I call on the angels,
ask for their guardian presence
as I pull my covers close as downy prayers.

I will bloom in my stary dreaming this night.
Poppies and snow are at peace there,
and I always carefully finger the locket
filled with my lover's voice.

Swindler of all kindness,
weave me into the night.
Make me invisible
to all but the one I adore.

Whisper the plan of our lifetime of escapes.

I will be at the door of the garden
tapping like a ghost who knows all the names
by which you were ever called.

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.