Unresolved

When our conversation reran on my brainbox overnight

I had some things to say to you that I found pretty bright

But I lost the power of parody in dusty morning light

You made me want to give up on the whole entire race

To disappear beneath a rock without a single trace

But I recall humanity and I remember grace

When I think about your disregard for my confessive stance

I want to join rejoinders though I know I've lost my chance

Now I’m the one who disregards the whole conversive dance

So passion recollected in the tranquil light of day

Can bring about regret over the things you didn’t say

Or bring about perspective which wipes it all away

So instead of one more rerun, tonight I choose to pray

The Light From His Guitar

The light from his guitar
scuttles around
amo cases
like a festive,
furtive feline.

He leaves his gift
(he loves his gift)
to us.

When he speaks,
he is a man;
but when he sings,
he is himself.

The light from his guitar
dazzles
curtains, floors.
He is the still center
of this nova.

It flashes out,
fleshes out,
reaching, teaches us,
squinting to reply
to the flirting
light from his guitar.

of baptism

i slip, ship-shod
into the wetter water.
today it ends, all mends
and will be mending.

i rise, star-eyed
into the heir's air.
i slip my selkie skin,
sealed now
in the crisper crispness

of baptism

Something’s in December

When yard sales turn to rummage sales and rummage to bazaars

When the yellow sun turns yellow leaves that lead to yellow stars

I lift my eyes in sharp surprise; they’re downcast all year long

I lift my voice – I have no choice – to sing the season’s songs

For something’s in December – there’s something to recall

Yes, something’s in December if there’s anything at all

Something about glory, something about dirt

When the night could not be silent and grace was taught to hurt

When everything had meaning and the world seemed meaningless

Yes, something’s in December – there’s something in this mess

When songs turn into carols and carols into hymns

When lamps leave way to candles and the sanctuary dims

There’s something in the fire: a man with flaming wings

There’s something in the darkness that outshines earthly things

I need all these reminders or else it slips my heart

That something’s in December that tears my world apart

I need the signs and check-out lines to wake me from my sleep

I need the night and candlelight for deep to call to deep

I need to touch the fire; I need to burn my hand

For something’s in December, and someday I’ll understand

Someone Whom I Almost Knew

You were tense, terse – no, that was me.

You were silken sheets blown by the breeze.

Your fingers ran on the moment’s keys

And looked easy.

You were glimpses at parties, on mornings, days…

You crinkled your laugh in sardonic ways.

And I would occasionally catch your gaze

And feel easy.

Mark that last – it means more than it seems:

When fixed in anyone’s headlight beams,

I doe, I slow, my spirit screams,

Uneasy.

For on the limb of the spiral stars,

Flinging, flung from some great arm,

We hurtle blind through the scars

Of mundane and infernal.

We shadow the path behind a hedge,

Scale the steep unto a ledge;

Dizzy on the spinning edge,

We turn on the eternal.

And we fear the wheel within the wheel

is titling on its table.

And who, alas, oh who is able

To bind that cog and wind that cable?

And you, I’m sure, have heard that Babel

And screamed yourself behind the stable.

We both have sunk in tidal pools

And suffered under sculptor’s tools,

Spun from pebbles into jewels –

Persistent widows, pleading.

We also both have sighed that sigh

Of creature catching out Most High

In re-created passersby

And stirred with some great leading.

But I was tense and terse, and you

Were silken sheets that breezes blew.

And the message never did come through,

Except as colors, bleeding.

And on the edge of something new,

I see the chance receding.

But greater things now bend your lobe.

Greater hands now spin your globe.

And you hold tighter to the robe

As your life is deflected.

I may not have fit in place,

But greater things now gulf your grace.

And villages will know your face

And rise to call you blessed.

I can watch your arms enclose

The lives and limbs of those you chose.

And I may be the least of those,

But I will be affected.

And the wheel within the wheel

            will spin on in our view,

And we will weep to know our due

And see what God will give in lieu.

And I am blessed to say that you

Are someone whom I almost knew.

Your Face

Your face is a hit here
Full dozens wear it proud
With diverse alters

You spark in a smile
Spin across the room
And simmer in an eye

This is your party
Your grand slam
All these yous gathered

And you lay in the midst
Contented and smiling
In the open casket

Little Man Of Iron

Little man of iron will, you have formed us well
Left a pack, a passel, a people where you fell
Left an iron spirit in a dozen iron hearts
An unbending bearing in the deepest of our parts
And we are your sweet circle: freely given, we freely give
We are your life's savers as long as we may live
In children, grand, great, and more
We are your cup that runneth o'er
We save your life in our spirits' store

But you have shown us something: iron sharpened still will rust
And every hand that turns the earth will someday turn to dust
Little man of iron, down to just an iron lung
Surely this is fallen nature; all is wrong, is wrung
But in the face of cosmic blight
Little man of iron might
All is settled, all is right
Sleep in angels' arms tonight

the beginning of something...

On the outer limb of the spiral stars
flinging, flung from some great arm
we hurtle blind through the scars
of mundane and infernal

We shadow the path behind a hedge
scale the steep unto the ledge
dizzy on the spinning edge
we turn on the eternal

and we fear the wheel
within the wheel
is titling on its table
and who, alas, oh who is able
to bind that cog
and wind that cable?