A Groggy Monday Morning

I love you and I barely even know you.
First thoughts on my mind as
I peel open my eyes:
I could open to you like a flower.

You are my favorite sounds:
Rain hitting dry ground;
Callouses sliding on strings from chord to chord;
A distant train making its timely presence known;
Breathing.

Some where out there is a sunrise
grazing the silhouette of your thigh
and I do not feel betrayed.
I feel beloved.

Cover me like morning mist in the mountains.
Leave me breathless like autumn's first wind.
I confess I can't live without you.
And alas, I never did.

The Weh of Yah

I've been sleeping with the illusion
that I am the hero.
Listening to the song of sacrifice,
Playing it like it's my anthem.
Living as if her labor is also mine.
But my sound is not a panted breath.
Rather it is a narcissistic cry;
A refusal just to die.
The Weh of Yah is to weld
my heart to thine--
A will linked to the Divine.
Yet I stand before you with Pharasitic lungs--
Each breath muttering not the whisper
of Your Name,
But the infection of my game
called 'me'.
Take a chisel to my comfort,
A hatchet to my flesh,
And remind me whose I am.
I am yours.
Nothing less.

O God of covenantal trust,
with jealousy and rage.
Take this book I've written in
and mark up every page.
Because...I've been sleeping
with the illusion that somehow,
I am the hero.

The Embers Drew You In

Oh child, trembling in your skin
Soaking and bathing in your tears.
You’ve been thinking it all wrong.
So ignorant, blind and deaf,
living only inside yourself.

I see you. I see your pain.
And I hear every drop, every tear,
every plea quivered out in fear.
Death has been knocking at your door,
Inviting you in for coffee and cigarettes.
And last night you agreed.

You closed your mind and shushed your heart.
The embers drew you in.
The smoke burned your lungs.
The hope that maybe this you will feel.
Sometimes, most times, all the time
You scare yourself.

While you smile at butterflies and melt over babies,
You hear your capability,
A beckoning, a haunting call in the back of your mind.
Capability whispers of your doom.
A diseased and dying elephant in the room.
You scare yourself.

Lately the mirror is all too much to face
And the midnight moon doesn’t shine as bright.
You wonder why you’re two steps behind.
You climb and climb and then decline.
But time is really not a line,
Rather, it is a movement.
And if time is always moving,
always continuing
always going on,
Then you have nowhere to go but forward.

You can’t go back, not one step, not two.
So throw out your goodbye letters,
and rejoice.
Each waking morning,
Every rise to meet the dawn,
Every moment you choose to live
is a victory.

You may scare yourself,
But child you do not scare me.
I will be your embers,
I will draw you in.
You’ll see…

And Now I'm Ready To Run

It’s been four seasons since I’ve put on my running shoes.
But as I cleaned out my closet, and packed up goodbyes
I realized it’s time.

Time to let go of unmet expectations,
And all claimed temptations.
The release of heartbreak sensations
And the death of a following dog named: fear.

I’ve been staring out windows,
Listening to journeying trains go by,
Clicking 500 mph towards what I assume to be
Tiny, hopeful towns.

I’ve been staring through windshields,
Watching wipers making dirty paths clear,
While I wait for the radio to tell me who I am;
And tell me where to steer.

Yes, it’s time to change my shoes.
No more heels that make me hurt.
No more boots expecting the rains.
No more sandals of cheap plastic support.
It’s been four seasons too long,
And now I’m ready to run.

I grab hold of my shoes,
I lace them up, claiming them one at a time;
Walk out into the dew-dampened yard;
Step onto the long, freshly paved road;
I look up, take a breath, and start to jog.
This road is unknown,
And promises no easy trail.
Yet I press on.
Freedom here I run,
One step at a time.

That Which Cannot Be Found

Most days people let you down.
They fall short of the hope you have in them,
Proving your expectations far too kind.
They leave without ever asking permission...
Or caring about what they left behind.
They hide behind misery, bitterness, and rage.
They pretend to be someone they’re not…
Or someone they think you need.
They’d rather feel nothing at all, so as to never feel pain.
They fail to be your everything...
Or even your anything.

Most days I make a huge mistake:
I search for myself in the eyes of a human.

I Could Walk Away

I could leave You.

I could get up, open my closet doors,
and gather all its contents spilling out.
I could put on my boots, pick up the bags, tip my hat
and slam the door goodbye.
I could let You watch me walk away off into the distance,
Never to look back, think twice or even care.
I could watch You cry and try to hold me in Your arms saying
“Be patient, be still, stay here and rest in My love"
I could pound my fists against Your chest trying to break
Your heart; try to shatter it into so many pieces
that You wouldn’t miss me at all.

Why? You ask. What haven’t I done?

You explain how all You ever did was give and give and give.
You remind me of my many affairs and how You forgave me.
You remind me that You know I’m not perfect and though I feel
like a burden, I’m Your blessing.
You make me remember the place we met.
The puddle of mud You found me rotting in.

Truth is I don’t know how this relationship is supposed to work.

I could leave You.
But I know the moment I walk out this door
I walk away from Life itself.
I walk away from hope and truth and purpose.
I walk away from suffering but I also walk away from healing.

Yes, I’m a mess…but when I’m here, when I’m with You, I am home.
I notice things I don't notice on my own.
I hear trains, and cries and birds and things.
I taste and touch and feel and sing.

I could stay.
I could put down my bags, break out in tears,
run into your arms and make love to you tonight.

There’s just one thing…
Are you sure you want me?

Labour and Deliverance

Happiness has melted away,
Trickled down like wet, running
paint on a canvas.
The eyes and ears and nose residing beyond
the mist in the mirror. Waiting to be discovered.
Again.

Perhaps these things need testing.
Bring in the white coats and clip boards.
Lay me down,
Spread wide my legs and examine what's inside.
Cringed and curled toed,
I wonder what you see?
What you write?
What you diagnose?

I drift into a dream...

This perfect, porcelain dancer
keeps going round and round.
The clicking of the classic notes
holds our eyes and sends our mind, back
and back again.
The same box brings the same tune.
Up and down they ring.
Could there ever be a perfect harmony
to such a classic melody?

I am pregnant with Peace.
Forty weeks seem too long.
Yet the doctors say today's the day.
I push and pull and tear and bleed.
They say just breathe.
I scream and scratch and arch my back.
They say just breathe.
I pant and cry. I can't, I can't.
They say just breathe.
I grab hold of my own legs, bear down
and plummet through the heat of hell.
And Peace, I hear
her first cry.

She is not what I expected.