At last
Tonight will be Quiet;
tomorrow/night, too.
O, but come Saturday,
we will feel the tremor
inside.. the pressure–
Alpha and Omega
shaking foundations,
shifting boulders,
and making a liar
of one tomb
after another.
Day into Night… into Morning
He trusted Peter’s trust in Him,
though Peter did not — once.
He trusted Dysmas’ trust in Him,
though Dysmas did not — once.
He trusted Paul’s trust in Him,
though Paul did not — once.
He trusted Thomas’ trust in Him,
though Thomas did not — once.
He trusted Martha’s trust in Him,
though Martha did not — once.
He trusted the Magdalen’s trust in Him,
though the Magdalen did not — once.
He trusts my trust in Him, too,
though I did not — once. (“Once”?
Once a day? Once a minute!)
So many mountains, clouds and
deserts, yes; and each of our Tents
is much Larger than we know,
yes
.
Lambs
All fall short–
this is true,
but how little Mercy
shall be needed for that one..
kind even to the one
who will someday try his best
to devastate him even more.
One could write it in blood,
but it is only uttered silently
in foreseeing hopelessness.
…
One must let his kindness
teach.
Ruah
Losing the moment..
losing it all —
time
excuses
— until
ting-ting, ting-ting, ting-ting
frankincense.. remember..
we forget. We forget.
Here. Now. Breathe.
Again, breathe.
“.., dear children, Happy Workday to you!”
Shore-to-unseen shores fully thawed, now,
the dark expanse of an old dam’s river
sparkling under early-Spring’s bright blue
attracted the right sort —
turkey vulture oddly in need of a mirror,
flapping wings now and then for my sake;
the half a ballfield of returning loons
spacing themselves out on the mirror surface
evenly, like a small town’s slow float parade
on a wondrously comfortable day;
and me.
Why me, at that moment of driving past?
A quick pull-in and a parking,
binoculars hauled from the *glove* compartment
to confirm for later, thinner tales (no camera).
Sometimes, He shares what He sees..
a seemingly vain vulture
and parades of singular fowl
(not in D.C. but as they were meant to be),
and an old girl who understands
Gifts.
Of course not
Why should I “dread
goodbyes”?
Didn’t life itself begin with one —
we bid a never-see-you-again
to our then lifelong friend, the placenta…
but didn’t that lead to walking, and running–
to jumping and diving, climbing, scaling and,
one day, to working? Oh. Oh, dear… It did
lead to dancing, though!
At my age, one has bid many a fare-thee-well and bon voyage,
so, of course it is not a dread of goodbye — one lives through it;
it’s simply mathematics, so to speak:
I’m never going to love anyone less than I do
and really, with full occupancy, there isn’t room for..
that is, it just makes more sense to stalk, surprise and nuzzle
your new cat —
if you don’t mind.
(You don’t, do you?)
Northern April
Thaw-freed dead leaves
blown gleefully together
in the new-Spring swirls
to out back of the houses–
like rung-bell runners who
(tho’ recognized unaware)
have “Never been caught!”
.
