broken stones
where once a heart
invisible walls
keep us apart
nights pass
under fading moon
nowhere to go
arriving too soon
the warmth of your kiss
the truth of your love
forever gone—
lone mourning dove
all i have left
as i travel this dark
more miles to go
too weak to start
then, the muzzle,
pressed close to my head
one last broken stone
one last piece of lead.
Abscission palettes
peinture nébuleuse violette
lumière des étoiles
Messiers mélange
cadeaux célestes de la nuit
grandes visions éthérées
I was looking for the life
I’d already lived
For a self I knew how to be
Was it the me in a monastery
For six years
Sleepwalking into spirituality
Was it the self-interested Jim
Leading a march
Against a war that had my number
Was it my writing self on a retreat
With Robert Bly chanting:
One drop of ocean water
Holds all of Kierkegaard’s prayers
Was it the clueless
Husband and father
Who dropped the ball
Was it me as the proprietor
Of a list of paramours
Who would never remember my name
After a last dark alley of conquest
I decided to be the guileless guy
Running after my own scruples
Then you opened the door for me
A casual visit
with my brother to buy soap
Light seeped out of your eyes
And stuck
With its attendant thunder
My arrest was complete
We pack with ice the belly of our sadness
the way we’ve seen fisherman do. Until where
do we need for it to last, to not spoil
and make a waste of our effort? Get there already.
Please. The ice has never not been melting.
We don’t say the ice cries, though its drops move down
its body as if on an elevator descending. We want
the doors of our sadness to open now
that we might step out. We lied. The ice was
too solid to be questioned once. It taught its slang
to diamonds. It spoke. Its tongue creaked
but we didn’t think to worry.
When death comes knocking at the door
It’s impetus one can’t ignore
Raucous rings for those who loved
Marching through church doors, white-gloved
Hearts hang low for what one knows
Enlarged and aching a cavity grows
A room could not hold two Lawrence Greens
A man who treated his women like queens
Our uncle was a brilliant man
Leaving us lighter, his love so grand
He’d tell you a story, if you had the time to hear
Some might even say, he’d talk off your ear
A husband, a father, a teacher and friend
We’ll love you forever, until we meet again
One part cumulus against blue, two green hills,
the innumerable golden tops of highgrass in swagger–
Add a necessary creek (but lakewater would do),
Don’t forget wind-in-drying-hair. Must be
My God
is bigger than my church
and for this
I am grateful.
Although I have longed
to commune with friends again
and missed the congregations
I used to pray beside
and my voice has begun to itch
to join in hymns of praise,
giving glory to God
for all He has given me
and my soul yearns
for the Blessed Sacrament,
Christ’s love outpoured
in bread broken and shared,
I realize I have been blessed
With knowledge and awareness
that God’s infinite love
cannot be capped with a steeple.
I have been granted faith
and hope in His grace
that in this desperate time
we have not been forgotten.
I know that He watches us.
He knows how we’re in mourning,
believer or not,
however these trials affect us.
I believe that even though
the usual channels are closed,
God’s love continues to flow
through this ailing world.
I believe that as a man of God,
my relationship to Him
is my responsibility to maintain
and it shouldn’t break without a church.
I believe that it is my duty as a Christian
to find these new ways of love,
to receive and reflect
God’s goodness to those around me.
And I believe I can do all this
from the comfort of my own home,
that by keeping my heart open
God will reveal Himself to me.
The church is nice and I miss it,
but I know it’s safer without it for now.
I also know God’s love is still infinite
as long as I choose to receive it.
