Sunday, February 21, 2010


(-Nothing left)

You made a fire in the room,
which ravished the ceiling
and took down the walls.

You could have opened the curtains
and riven the sky, come close
to the hills that watch over me golden;

I would have thanked you.
You of the unbending flame,
autumn hue searing.

Unblinking eyes,
the sun shines
and the world turns.
Cold, the fires that tell
that day is surely somewhere,
but not here;
you are the beauty
my heart has escaped,
but not now.

The curtains were stuck, and I tugged
until silence filled the room,
distant face that beckons. I can’t follow
roads made clear
for broken feet.

Fierce the words come
over my body; deep these ocean beds,
and dark (the fish have moons for eyes).
He who formed the waters
is with me.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

words without names.

Everything close is indistinct,
all that is held seems stolen—
once was a gift, brilliant and true,
but the throne feels far away.

Where are the ones
who can hear and remember,
even who see but a little?
Where is he who moves among the garden?

There is a path we believe in,
but grapple to find
not imagine. Ache to love,
and search to please.

Quiet, still and listen
to the voice who stands outside you.
Still, until the silence bends
into the sky, seen emptiness,

and promise that cannot be broken.