Volume

The world seems large
but we seldom consider all of it
trapped as our perspectives are
in the flat plane of surface Earth—
but think of the vast volumes
within her and above her; think of
her molten iron core, which makes
mountains when it sloshes in the cup;
think of the infinite spacetime expanse
though which she slips in lonely grace;
think of this beloved, beveled ribbon
between the lava and the vacuum
where all our love, and war, and
our only hopes have thrived.

August 2019

Skin to skin

Skin to skin, we align
your fevered heart with mine,
its chills and sweats expressed
within my arms: in sleep or panic,
even frantic at the doctor’s touch,
fighting everything, including me,
eyes wide in confused terror and
your fists pounding on my chest
; all of this, my own body will absorb
with its skin and blood and joy.
Rest here, small friend; allow me
the honor of beating for your heart,
the privilege of maintaining you,
while raspy cries and shaking breaths
become still, and whole, and calm.

August 2019

Blurring

Why do we move so fast
the world is only blurs?
A season, a year,
beginnings and ends
and the humans within
—smeared, like slow film
that cannot catch the frame.
My boss says, looking up,
grabbing his old gym bag
almost surprised, “it’s been
a fat four years, and...”
but we blur that too,
even the recollections.

August 2019

Why mourn?

“Why mourn,” I judge my friends
when the Now is full of laughter—
but I am a hypocrite, watching
each season change approach
foreboding and fearful, casting
the darkest shadows on the walls
of my expectations. I always have.
As a kid, when home alone, my
imagination would scald my heart:
my family has had a wreck and died,
I will be an orphan adrift evil tides,
and justice will scorn my pleas—
tears fell, rational mind aghast
that my sobs would express
real grief for imagined things.
So, now. My sons—best friends
each to the other—approach a chasm
they cannot expect, and my heart
breaks for imagined loss. But,
“Why mourn?” I ask myself,
when the Now is full of laughter?

August 2019

The endless gift

Despite our flaws
you set the clouds aflame
in beauty every night—
or should I say, you give us
eyes and minds capable of
understanding Beauty. Also
tragically capable of evil
whether real or imagined,
but you didn’t have to give us
a sense of Beauty; yet you did.

August 2019