hands on

god is not one of us;

god is all of us.

 

if we could put our

hands on

 

the whole world,

we would feel it—

 

the story of

the story of the

 

spiral pearly gate

opening and leading

 

us up and out of our

self-preserved caves,

 

around and around in

remembrance circles until

 

we could not do even one thing

without love.

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maybe we get stronger

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these grand moments tessellate,

become memories,

weaving latent symmetry.

 

science re-aligns:

brilliant humility;

always questioning,

 

always loving the design:

bright-brain mandala–

mazes lighting up the sky.

 

she sings to the rain;

embryo turned baby girl

turned future woman.

 

the dark day sings through the years:

while making coffee,

choosing her favorite mug;

 

the cat plays D-sharp,

the start of how great thou art,

on the white upright.

 

the glorious axioms

–love, light, shadow, breath–

shine through from the other side.

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a day is worth so much more than fifty cents

i keep finding myself driving down the short, short street

where i lived while you died — past the canary-yellow

pick-up whose bed remains empty; past the arched-flowered

front porch; past the circular stone drive.

 

where we walked to the first school bus stop,

beside the cool morning bench and lavender

bushes and walnut tree growing a stunning yellow

fungus in the shape of a swelling flower;

 

where my girl waited and cheerily tossed rocks,

petals, leaves into the gaping hole where the tree’s limbs

intersect — as if to say, you are beautiful; you are

worthy of receiving love unto your selves.

 

just down the street, the city library — where i can

never seem to stay in good graces; three weeks just fly

by and away and leave me in the breathless red:

a day is worth so much more than fifty cents.

 

 

sun day

i wake to morning light

communion breeze

song birds

child safe, asleep

 

openness, forgiveness: a

gentle bringing together of

dream-forgetting and

kind remembrance;

 

even the pairs of

mother-child fighting

outside my window are

pieces of mirrored divinity

 

attending to each of

these gifts gathered here

with the senses i have received

i partake in a humble holiness

 

this is my church

and inside i am the

minister, choir, and body

of the word of God