Is there an icon of eyes
of the dove
wings wide
just above the shoulder –
and of in the eyes
that branch
buried in the heart of Jesus?
Tag Archives: poetry
All my worthless dying
Not to myself, just dying
The ego needs proof till its dying day
Yes it made sense: you made sense of it.
You slept with and solved every problem,
etching equations in glass verified
by daylight and the empty space beside you.
The night was your cloudy mind projected –
against it you appointed pointless sticks
to a pointless fire –
your altar to you, but you did it because
you could.
God parks desire in a drafty garage
Hands you the keys.
A soul should wilt but you won’t.
You’ll drive till the end of time
and when you’re done
you’ll put it back here.
I got lucky
That stone-faced soul
was out when mother and baby
and baby went by,
and so was I
in time for the smile,
that little bit left for me.
A hearty jealousy
Sometimes prayers you have to wrestle them loose
for they bear the beloved
and you don’t want to bear
the beloved away
I die for death
I die for death has comforted me.
She has spread her blanket and lain sad beside me,
and looked wide-eyed, and waited.
Topeka
And so I left those troubles
like a gray bitter snowstorm,
spinning but then
digging and gaining traction,
passing slowly through the drifts and pelting
(headlights full of the past),
driving knowing if I drove far enough
there’d be an end to it,
the white line again,
daylight
and a first inkling of why
Light can be rich like butter
Light can be rich like butter –
and whiskey, too, like toffee.
When it is you’ll see, everything you see
is everything warm and smooth.
Christmas Canticle
Trucks will head home for the
holidays, and wreaths will have
arrived to adorn doors
and spin like the sun at Fatima.
For those who would pass through
the hoop and the door, the tree awaits,
hoisting its star, a princely, tinsely
medal for the savior.
Utrecht Journal 