Love Song To A Husband

All these years
we’ve worked to look
each other in the eyes—
to not look away at the times
when the gruesome details
made us want to turn and run
toward some other truth.

That’s what honest love is
after all.

We’ve carried that burden of proof
all these years
innocent of playing guilty games
in secret places
where no one touches
anyone else.

We have been pioneers
in our own way
coming to the land
where our sons might grow
strong and brave among the trees
and hard granite ledges—
Walking the steep paths
ourselves—taking the hand of the moon
when we felt our feet slipping.

Today I stand before you,
before Cupid asks me again
if he should throw an arrow
at the broad target
of your heart,
to tell you that this is the best
I will ever be.

This is the harvest season of the essence
of my beautiful flower self,
where I must stand
open to the promise
of the widest skies.

Today, and every day after today,
I will let the bees come
and take all my love.

That will be the way
I will leave you, husband—

on the lips
of the hungry faces
of insects
who will never know
my real name.

Mending the Broken World

If you haven’t noticed
we are living in a broken world
where the Kingdom of America
is crumbling all around us.
We are the inventor of suspicion—
tea parties and horsemen
in the night
meant to protect
and defend
walk endlessly
away from Walden Pond
and that much hope.
Time now exposes all
our private scars—
near deaths
that act like theft
to our innocent
new beginnings.

Time now measures
the distance we have run
away from simplicity
and frugal ideals
that made our armor
trustworthy and shining
with courage to do the right thing.

I have noticed
the language of change
must be our famous last words
of men and the water of life that alone
will heal the deepest wounds of greed.
We must not shrink in the shadows of mistrust
wagging her scolding finger in our faces—
this mother spooning cod liver oil
into the mouth of Darwin’s Disorder.

Instead, let us smile,
pick up our hammers of truth and compassion,
while we get back to mending our broken fences.

Golden Rule

“Speak your truth,”
she said,
“Put your hands
near your golden voice
and sing the words
gilded with rich metal
and shine from the place
you’ve mined
the most precious nuggets.

Like a crown of fig leaves
preserved and shining atop your head,
you are royal in robes flowing with so much light,
displaying the birth rite of all who believe.

“You glitter,”
she says,
“and the dust of the stars
must remind you to see the whole sky
with an eye for opportunity.”
The temples of the mind
already sing your praises
as you learn to drop your body
and walk away
into the freedom
of darkness.

It means nothing
to hold gold coins in your pockets
like talisman against your fate.
Give them away
to the Palominos
of time.

Open your mouth,
give Midas a gentle word,
and dissolve into a sunrise
of silent bird song.

In this place of nothing you will break open--
pierced by a single ray of undeniable love.

In The Leaving of Light

Pluck a diamond
from this dark night
of principles
and hang it in the hole
pierced with freedom
long ago
in your left earlobe.
The hook no longer stings
nor swells, but slides with silver
smoothness into beauty.

Look into the chemistry
of your lover’s eyes
and imagine the universe
he lived in at the beginning
of the light he offers you now.

What angel lamentations or lyrics
can describe this much loss
in one simple gift?

Better yet,
let him win you back
with a single kiss
or in an embrace.
What mercy there would be
in that focus on forgiveness—
in the true surprise
of authentic hope.

Here gold rings
and bands forged
by heat and fire
would be reduced to nothing
but the shape of a heart
etched in the traveling skin
of a human hand.

Here anger and managed bodies
would break apart
into countless smooth pebbles
and be washed away by floods
and rolling rapids of pain.

Here the animal body
would swim into the wildest
open seas and float
until the glittering sky
gathered herself together
in the loving waves
lost in the leaving of light.

Dark Time

The quest for truth
floats like candles,
bobbing in the cold night sea—
a breeze rippling on the surface
of the mind as an art.

I inhabit winter
like a furry soul hibernating—
slowly breathing,
slowly burning the stores
layered under the surface
of my skin.

I blow on these hot coals
in simple release.
I am warmed
by the universe
of kindness
I’ve found in the dreaming
of this dark time.

Now That I Have Wings

Now that I have wings
it is hard to imagine
pinning them down on Sunday mornings
long enough to squeeze
into the pews of a cavern
filled with hopeful seekers—
the fear and anxiety
of doing it wrong
dripping from the fibers
of all the garments
like sheep come in from the fields
wet into the barn
and hungry for spring grasses
in the middle of a long winter night.

There is no shepherd here for them.
Only empty stalls to be filled by wooly bodies.

I long to comfort them,
these gentle beasts who have no idea
what it is like to fly.

My hand brushing the tops
of steaming heads in this cold place
could give some assurance
like the smile of a stranger.
Instead they rush past me,
my legs bruised
by their panic to follow the others
toward the security of the place
they come to each night.

Blind
they will never
look up
and only bolt
at the sight of my shadow
that passes in front of them
while their heads are bowed
toward the earth below.

Blessed Trinity

I miss it--
the ritual of Sunday--
of forcing myself to get up
and make myself go out
to the place where other spirit seekers
gather together, look each other in the eye
and offer one another
even a sign of peace.

We sang.
Oh, we sang,
unashamed of harmony.
I’d belt it out in the pews
next to mumblers
and the deep rumbles
of elders who knew
all the songs by heart.

The courage it took
to bend down
upon entering God’s house
to bless my own head
with clear & holy water
and submit to that kindness
humbles me now.

Admitting the Father,
a son, and the ghost of a chance
could heal me
was enough for a while.
It was enough to open my heart
to the most sacred spaces
I come to with each breath now.

The alter of now is the table
where the sacred trinity
is light
is peace
and the most generous love.
Daily these blessings are served
for all who will take and eat
and be filled to overflowing
with grace.