Joy's Light

Joy’s light dancing round

my skull,

not to enter this

white sepulcher of doom.

Dark resting place of happiness,

buried much too soon. 

Grace of Goodbye

I'm so tired and scared

of this being

alone.

When a yellow finch,

sun drenched,

zooms by.

A bright reminder

of unexpected gifts.

It must be

the same finch

I glimpsed last week.

A tiny gilded flicker

under the live oak.

At once darting skyward,

a small and sacred prayer,

shot straight to the heart of God.

Dragonfly Dying

The dragonfly is dying

to birdsong.

On his back,

wings useless now,

the birds indifferent.

He remembers

bobbing on the air

over the colors

of a dozen different flowers.

All his life he managed

to avoid the spider's web.

He smiles.

The dragonfly is dying

to birdsong.

On his back,

wings useless now,

the birds indifferent.

How We Travel

There you go blazing

while I,

the mildly troubled traveler,

stand with my suitcase

at the curb.

A stream

of smoke

The scent

of swirling stardust

resonate of you.

Pilgrims

"Who is that?

there, in the darkness,

bearing a speck of light?"

"It is I,

a fellow pilgrim,

sharing in your plight."

"My plight?

You know nothing of my night."

"Is it for a glimpse of morning

that you bravely fight?"

"Yes, tis right."

"Then come and share my light.

We hope for the same sight."

At the Kitchen Sink

I'm looking at you

through the window.

You throw a jagged rock,

the ugly color of cement.

Shattered transparency

falling out all over

cutting bright red wounds

through who I thought you were.

Good-Bye

Just as we entwine

we also unravel.

Knit together

till someone pulls the thread

and there's a hole.

I want to tie a knot,

pull tight,

close the gap

with neat precision.

Instead,

let's each hold the thread,

loosely,

with enough slack left

for the weaving together again.

The cicada song carries me,

up on its evening hymn,

into the holy dark of dreams,

deeper into Louisiana.  

Olive, sage and dark lime green,

gracefully watered, Louisiana.

Baptized with swamps and bayous,

signs and sacraments of Nature’s love.

Relaxed in slumber, I blink and see

water nymphs in tupelo trees

and white egrets,

stalking the marsh’s edge,

patient fishermen and keepers of

alligator secrets.

Wet air soaks my skin.

Clammy sheets entangle my legs

as I turn over in my bed,

back to where I was

before my dreaming.

This, then is my collect.

This, then my compline:

the cicada ancient call to prayer,

my kneeling heart.

Amen.