Do I truly believe... when the sacred center shatters, when hope is flung like dandelion parachutes into frigid wind, when all presses down into winter sleep when all is lost... Do I truly believe... when only the hollow stalk remains, unloved, dry, cracking.. it is not the end of the story? Could it be my…Read more Dandelion
All around me the earth flutters. Dreaming of the future, it sends messages like little notes for tomorrow, twirling in gray dawn sky, like rain. The tree is determined to hope. How does the tree know it is time? How am I here at just this moment to witness its innermost thoughts? No one tells the tree,…Read more Unless A Grain of Wheat Falls….
Like a dense, winged creature draped across my chest, it caws over charred dreams, disintegrating into ashes. But still the fire rages. What is left to burn? The bird's merciless wings fan flames hotter and heavy. Until a moment of inexplicable release. Rescue. A force of goodness beating the creature back, forcing it to lift.…Read more The Wings Are Mine
Cruel winter winds too fiercely blow. They drive me deep beyond where I can speak. Everything silent except a heart beat, my own. Waiting, listening, I survive. Until the day harsh winds scamper away, tails between legs, ashamed, chased away as the liars they always were. All that was frozen, drop by drop, slides into a…Read more I Am Still Here
For you, plow my silent body into arid soil. There, where I lie mute, plant your seed. I will hold your fragile roots. There, tangle in a word, your word. Become your word. Like a tender seedling whisper to the light, swell into testament. Burst above ground. And then, dare the morning to sing louder.…Read more Your Voice
when harsh winds blow and I stand exposed with no hope of my own, battered and bruised: wrestling an angry sky, clinging to barren rock, bound by sedimentary days then - probe deep let questions fuel furious chiseling through, let desperate seeking leech Presence from silence oh, little tree swallowed by rock too grand, sky…Read more Battered Little Tree
Here am I again, where circles end, the dusty place I know at the end of the road. I sink to my knees, furiously dig, past listless grains to deeper pack. Sand, flowing through my fingers, until I hit something hard, solid. I grasp it, wrench it into the light, hold it up to weak,…Read more Digging