storm time

The air fragmented and still

The wind playing games in the trees of another town

The clouds lying in vast repose...taunting the trees/sidewalks/houses/fields below

The rain (still young enough to be timid); touching the leaves of the blackberry bush with tender curiosity

The horizon adorned with pearly greys, pinks and blues

The sun setting and taking all the finery of day to his palace on the other side

The child watching from a bedroom window...stands like a conductor, waiting for the music to begin.

baby eyes

in the reflection of your eyes i see Heaven.

perhaps a memory, perhaps a promise,

perhaps an invitation to come and dance

Tonight...your dance card is full

not too long from tomorrow
we'll be waving from the other shore.
watching you walk...safely to the other side.
so happy to see you go...
so sad to watch you leave.

not too long from tomorrow
you'll be a bright-eyed girl with glossy black hair
running with abandon to the other side of the divide.
say hi to everyone for me.
say hi to Grandpa, kiss your mother and father, rock my first baby to sleep.

not too long from tomorrow
He'll be walking you home...for the last time.
in the twilight, in the dusk; up the last hill you'll ever have to climb--the hand of our Christ is steadying your final steps.

not too long from tomorrow
we promise not to cry too long. Since there is no more crying where you are, we promise not to cry too long.

mettle

i am solid all the way thru
not thin enough for the rain to rust me till i fall
just a taste of metal in my mouth reminds me i can still trip
oh Mr Tinman, you know my predicament...

lesson

over my shoulder in the direction of the horizon
lies the road that i've travelled.
i see all my footsteps behind me
poignant reminders of my mistakes.
my past paves the way for my future
as i watch those same muddled footprints
straightened out in front of me.

us

you and i

you and me

us and we

bringing our two sides face to face

confronting our humanity and awkward youth

blazing a path for our feet with the fervor of hope

you can see

i can hear

we can feel

the relentless tide of tomorrow

threatening to undo our willpower

and yet we are stronger still

together

wandering into...

Do not just call me Folly, for I am very wise;

these wares that I now sell to you are my beautifuly crafted lies.

Both rich and poor, wise and fools--my clientel is vast

all begging to be the one to help cut their anchor before it is cast.

I speak in the words of the scoffer and the scholar

and make reason to both children and men.

I tell them that nothing is true or false,

and they then take up their pen.

I entreat to no one, yet many retreat to me--

for there is no better lie than the one you cannot see.