I’m caught between
ecstasy
at your being here
and the grief of it,
for the world
isn’t good enough
for you
Faith, Health, and Other Musings
May our minds flourish with creation, and may our hands never deny its expression.
I’m caught between
ecstasy
at your being here
and the grief of it,
for the world
isn’t good enough
for you
If it makes it past my heart
I’ll kill it with my hands
There’s an echo in the mountains
When the body lands
Not a person
But a planet full
Vast in its purple oceans
And many in its moons
Dragging me into your orbit
And drowning me in your
Violet waves
My nightmares
are my own;
unfelt and unseen
yet the tremors
are heard in the morn,
dull echoes
hidden in sharp alarms,
falling to sleep
waking to rise
life to day
death to night,
ending its story
as we all do
in our fatal haste to new
You are a snow day,
a game-saving buzzer shot,
the first sip of coffee,
and the last page
of my favorite book,
when good defeats evil
and love wins.
She pulls me
gently
down a well-worn path,
littered with ferns and old letters,
and brings me to
a flowery clearing.
“This is always where they leave,”
she says,
indicating the barren field.
“Yes,” I say,
“this is it.”
“This is what?”
“This is a perfect place
to build a home.”
Breathing heavy,
I wait for light to leave the sky –
longing for your nighttime spell
a brutal, tortured tongue-tie.
You haunt me with your drawling voice
dark and yet unseen,
you disturb my foolish, failing heart
and call it Halloween.
You’ve taken up residence
in my heart
and grow
every day more immovable;
when I peer into the cabinets
and corners
I can’t help but to think
I love what you’ve done with it.