Strawberries for Dessert

When June is ready to tip the light
toward the dark side of the year with bravado

we would rather banish to a slower plodding pace
like a flushed and blistered old woman walking home
from Sunday services

the sun follows her mechanical movement
of a toy wound too tight

and forgets that abundance
must slide and moan the birth sounds
of fat, juicy berries

and biscuits with whipped cream
slurping from a cold can

onto the plate of a small smiling boy
who forgets his manners and dips his fingers

into the delight
of strawberries for dessert.

Permeability

These rains fall
like joy into the open heart
of gratitude,
a cell of the soul
that pours in and out
of Love's cup
at the abundant table,

at the homecoming
of the Beloved
before the end
of the beginning,

before the nard must be used
on the body, dead and cold,
pour the oils onto His feet
without hesitation

so that these bodies
might fall together
into the permeable embrace
where we lose track
of the boundaries of limbs,
and skin, and hair,

open as a wide-eyed kiss.

Friday

Thank goodness
the world continues
to caress the edge of love

even when your chest
nearly bursts
with grief.

And God
is love
and loving us
all the while

waiting for us to look at each other
and nod in respect
for the flower of humanity
that blossoms
purple

like a crocus
breaking through the crust
of the last gray snow.

Simple Prayers

To all the other kneeling women of time,
to these beautiful souls who lifted simple prayers
when all others festered with fear
under the veil of skin and decomposed,

please sing to us now of anointed courage and light
straight as a young arrow to our sorrowful hearts.

Please speak with a true tongue
so that we might convert the unbelievers
to a path of released belief.

Please give us the strength to wait
and to sustain each other with chanting
and glorious silence

so that when we are wise enough to know
that we can roll away the stone ourselves
and confront the darkest places
so many others have known

the task will be as effortless
as flight.

The Sky Will Not Fall

Again, the robins
Tumble and skip like autumn.
The sky will not fall.

Gone Again

Trace the yellow-gold petals of a daffodil across your cheek
and you will know the truth of angel's wings
flying close to the earth
when all hope is gone
again.

The Glitter of New Coins

Robins tumble across the grass in this damp wind

like leaves tossed at will by a restless God.

Rain, though cunning, cannot melt their rusty hearts.


And the tiny alchemy of finches

turning from winter

is enough to quicken

my breath

and to see the grayest season

will change into the glitter

of new coins.