You’ve lit me and I’ll go,
but take my time as I do.
Your having me is me having you.
That I’m gone when you’re done
is you all the more.
Author Archives: Timothy P. Schilling
Heavenly host
How could I not live in this world where I speak to the dead
How could I not live in this world
where I speak to the dead and
they speak to me, and intercede –
if I would, if I pray –
even if I never knew them?
How could I not sign on for angels
and parted seas and tents in the desert,
and the last prophet who was the greatest,
but less than every child still to come?
How could I not want every chance repeatedly
to see and forgive – to tap out deeds of love
and be propped up – to pick up my mat and
soar, dammit, in a sky of mercy?!
I could not not turn to you
or live in any other world.
This is the world,
and I claim it.
Purple dusk of twilight time
Outwitting dying
I shook off dying
and was left undying,
but how was it other
than what I already was?
Ode to Willy Loman
Oh, we’ll fix the car and the shower –
the car that lurches, the shower that leaks –
and clean up the piles
of crap we don’t need.
And I’ll remember my wallet
before I bike to the station,
and my hat won’t be lost
for the twenty-third time.
But and yet still
thy will
won’t be in any of it
(or will) as trains pass
and doors close
and faces watch
the city aglow.
Photo of my niece taken by my daughter
Pressure on the line judge
Of course we know which way we’re going
when we’re in the game, but step outside
to see the ball fly free from the scrum
to cross the invisible line, and hear
the eager calls and know no
answer from deep within to
pleading, pleading eyes
Parent night
Poster with clouds
Cirrus, stratus,
stratocumulus –
these free shapers of sky and our thoughts
have landed to serve as an internal forum
for student affairs.
Knowing the secrets,
and having weighed the arguments,
they speak their mind and send the young,
chastened but buoyed,
on their way
Utrecht Journal 