oh mind!
you fickle, fearful thing!
to have what one wants
and yet no satisfaction, derive--
you traitor-!
betrayer!
misleader and liar-
thank God
for a heart
that is right
every time

God sits
and I sit
and we speak
and it seems
that he knows
what I say
and a clock
ticks away
tick tock
not today
nor the next
but our task's
on the way
i know
what he says
be still
i have asked
that you wait
but i can't
god -- now!
i want now
to know more
than i know
but God laughs
you are young
little seed
but We grow

Love, reside
but ever know
I am
a traveler


Love, redeem
yet when I'm called
so shall I leave


Love, anchor
yet not to the ways
of the shore;
for waves come
and ever, I
must move
as the sea
and when currents call
so shall I leave
so shall I leave

Walls are weak,
my word is my armor.

Knives are dull,
my acts are my weapon.

Thought is blind,
my faith is my vision.

Love is fierce,
so is the heart,
so is the Way.

what is love
but a silent promise?

what is love
but a silver bloom?

the trees grow
and each blossom
is a promise.
I am not too busy to listen.
I am quiet enough
to understand.

we are all children
so why can't you be
a child with me--
grow deeper into innocence
and mature in your passions.
your generosity and kindness
will keep you young.

there is never a darker night
than living with both eyes closed.
to open
is not to see daylight,
but to know each moment
as a thought
in God's infinite now.

You are
my difference,
my inherently
same

a
feeling
to my
knowing
the change
to my
immortal
you are transient life
flown inward

i am only
what i have become
through you
my whole
my unwavering
eternal

plant me firmly
in sandy eyes
I might tremble
but rain mists down
and I am a quixotic flint flower
striking match stick
smooth dancer
built of
burnt leaves
and hooded gazes
softly fallen
we are asleep
so fast asleep

I do not know
the world
but to dream

willow

i come

from the deep midnight

forest wells

the unseen abodes

the small murmurs

of voiceless night

i am

a silver shock

dim light mover

with an echo

yes, a pool of dream-quick

come hither

to my side

sweet souls

i am eager to give

God, you are
a word that unwrites me
our meeting places
are filled with sun
You are
my intangible thoughts
my heart, laden bare
of words, with words, and none
speak as clearly
as you

A Prayer to the Frost

I.

Winter draws black strings and unties me,
walking a chipped sky to placid lakes
where mist threads into water; these mirrors
seek the sky, and turn back all
that is unbrushed, imperfect growth.

I walk here to become liquid cold, and beg
that these depths might know me.
I am a strange visitor and the water is not
as expected, even frozen in prayer.
I watch her in the depths as I bow
and she looks as though she once knew me.

I would like a chance (more than a chance)
to waver before the unknown, and rest
because my will has flown, and I have
been driven by love to find you,
but the grass is cold, wilted by frost,
and your reply, as of yet, unknown.

II.

She is weary
and she leaned over me
to speak, but did not

she is the color
of my garden;
here is the flaw
that makes perfection,
like a rose
grown wild

she could not speak
to say, and I would not
listen, for to know her
is to see her lips move
and her breath
to cross my surface

dip your hands in my hands, child,
for my answer is given


III.

The air is dampened light, sifting
weak through the leaves; they
fall through the water. Numb hands
break the surface;

I have come here to collapse
into you, to concave as a mountain's
wall, and crumble, tight
in the embrace of water
where I die a second breath.
Your depths are a sacrament
and I do not stumble before you,
but kneel, for my prayer to the frost
is your name, and my surface is
your reflection, and my hands
are made warm by your love.

Your Words

Simple poem written for someone who I thought was... but was not....

* * *

I am sad to see
that you are a fake, sir
and your words
are hollow

you realized
a dream in me
and for that, I thought you better;
but no, it is the Self
I saw, in writings of others
expounded at your expense
and I wonder, do you feel
more a saint
for the words
you fear

and share
for love listens
day and night to your sounds
but never, a kindness
other than your own
voice

shhh
dear child
listen

Though they do not see, I love them more
and though they cannot hear, I know they read
the words you left before, before
my message is to be given

by deeds alone, and through deeds of love
I die again. It shall not be said
but I come
to strip the cloth,
to mend the rags
of the forsaken