Three dots aligned
and gave us pause.
A midday Selah
strung our wonder
along a celestial seam.
Intelligent design
bill-boarded,
nearly blinded us,
our naked eyes
clothed.
Once again
the heavens
declared the Glory
of God.
Psalm 19
The shape of passion,
not of getting, but
giving.
A crossroad of wills,
intersecting between
I and Thou.
Centering the crux
of the matter…
Relationship,
where my flat-line
crosses His up-line.
Good News.
When poetry slants,
And phrases dribble down,
My parched lips part,
And life trickles in
Where nothing else passes.
A Psalm, a song,
An edge-wise word
Tipped over
Into my soul.
Mother’s Day…
She pondered these things in her heart.
Mothers do that quite often.
She kept all these things.
My mother did too.
An angel told Mary.
The power of the Highest will.
An overshadowing of foreshadows.
“For with God nothing will be impossible.”
All mothers are infused with possibilities.
They lay down their self dreams
and rest folded hands upon
their distended bellies.
Mary carried wonder
full term and delivered hope.
There was blood and water and child.
All mothers hold pasty skin to chest with awe.
My mother held each of us close for a moment.
A snip of the umbilical and the separation
began a journey of contemplation.
What will? What if? Life.
Mary’s path was set.
From empty womb to empty tomb
the realities of motherhood were multiplied.
The gestation in her heart left stretch marks of spirit.
Near the end Mary drank of the cup no mother…
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Let’s just skip the stones
and get dirty.
Mud pies in the face.
Bear disgrace.
Fall into place.
Wallow and weep
into each other’s eyes.
The river’s a half-peck
away from your cheek.
We’re weak,
let’s cinder sneak.
We know who we are
from where we were,
and now is now.
The Oh, Honestly
parts of us wait
in the rain,
the ripples
kissing each other
with grace.
The light fell down,
bruised its knee
preying in the shadows,
tilling the ages spots
on my brow and forearm.
Today, while it still is,
I will walk in the fallen light;
that flipped switch of night.
It dawned on me
that light by which I see,
is the point after all.
Like a book mark,
a fallen tree.
I heard the echo threreof
and fell too,
marking the place in which
I left off
like so many other pages
cleft in the forest.
Tell me again
why these memories gather moss,
bear termite bits,
and sit like cairns in conversations.
Let me know
How to live
after I rise above the imprint
and gather its shadow
like a jacket.
How do I lumber along this path?
Seeing forward, glancing back,
giving ground behind and before,
I set my face like flint,
grateful for shafts of light
and the affect thereof.
Another fall into grace.
I’ll pass on the passion,
stay in the lane,
between lines,
and read road signs.
Droning on,
highway hypnosis,
staring the horizon down.
Poor eyes on.
Even the rumble strips
me of desire,
might I retire
with treads worn thin.
Jesus take the wheel…
I’m not kidding.
Let’s go for a joy ride.
If my heart is in the right place
its ligaments aren’t overextended.
I find myself right where I should be…
in the middle of otherness,
the Thou super-suspended
yet at the end range of this core.
Nearer to Thee oh God
is the lost and found of me.
I poured clouds in my coffee,
Not to shade the cream,
But to brighten the cocoa.
The bitter bite of sips
edges shaved with cream,
Sweet swill of caffeine.
“Hey Joe, what you going to do
With that mug in your hand?”
“Just one shot of dairy.”
“That’s not the half-n-half of it.”
