laying hands

when you cross over
and I hope you do
I wish that the truth
about all things washes
over you (and I) in a rush
a baptism just long enough
to adjust the view
and renew the senses
to see what is
from every side
in fullness
at rest in the love
that surrounds us all
utterly free

knowing in full
that all is well
and all will be well
until we meet again
in truth

love. not love

Broad spectrum sentiment applied with the lavishness of Febreze.

a void

The surgical precision of apologies may fool the eye, never the heart.

To come through a potentially harmful or unpleasant experience, without suffering serious consequences. To avoid is to succeed in keeping away from something dangerous or undesirable.

where she belongs

I can forgive this.

It’s that there are no words,
no acknowledgement of harm or intent, or
the other’s pain; knowing full well a child
is playing with matches in the dark.

It’s the absolute refusal.
It’s the repetition, the continuance of this
the anger, the bit in the teeth, pulling hard–

I can forgive this, but I’ll no longer hold a child
that is yours to hold, to find a way.

I’m letting her go. I hope she makes it to the other side.
She deserves all your love and attention.

I can forgive this, but I cannot live
with this, beside this, in this.

no return

He wants no stories of dark
but he runs through the house
closing all the doors
pulling all the blinds.

from nothing

without pedigree or PH.D.
thistles, stinkweed, dandelions, dock
flood every barren space

making a way for everything that follows
dredging for gold, aiming for distance

overwhelming the obedient vegetable
the delicate flower; bypassing
all my personal boundaries

making a way
making a mess
making work

lay the shovel down?
leave things alone?
let it be?
let the seeds fly?
the roots sprawl?

ride the waves of transition
’til all goes to grass?

the knees say “Aye!”

who’s living the abundant life?
“They are!”

i thirst

Freedom. Please no more
plastic, WalMart sized freedoms
hocked by Sideshow Bob.

not pretty

they want to see pretty
what I see is not always pretty

take the pencil from my hand
close the book, put fingers to my lips

slap the voice shut. wish me well
to end the conversation

they tell me we see what we want to see
we see what is inside us, we see ourselves

if I stand at a hanging
will I see pretty, if I think pretty
if I feel pretty, if I am pretty. inside

will I write beauty and peace
will I paint the flowers and the sky
omit the twitching and the cheering

the cheering that never seems to end

to tell the truth
I see it in a different way
the covering that covers all of this

that covers you, me, us
I am searching in every frame
for beauty, meaning, a way through

a way to honor human
each of us, our wayward walks
mercies, grace, truth

I see beauty through and through
in words no one wants to hear

too plainly written for you
too pretty for him

I am, like you, searching for my face
and another’s, in you. in us


oh, everybody has an opinion

virtually useless
when meeting the other

oh, isn’t it ironic

two girls labeling
a mother’s (or another’s) disappointment
as too much drama


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