thinking at human speed, writing from human need
A hydrangea tree stands In the center of my secret yard These past three years I have seen it live and die Sense the sun and smell the rain Stretch and reach for the sky Lose a limb from a hurricane Come back again and again What I have learned
Mourn me when I’m gone That’s all I ask of you Who else will Wait for me in the afterlife With a latte and two balloons Don’t leave me here Unmoored, adrift In the absence of you What will I know of grief What can I know
Don’t tell me To not talk about politics In our country Where my sons could die In their classroom Or in a Wal-Mart For the wrong shape of eyes That they got from me Don’t tell me You don’t care Who wins or loses Waiting for your
October 12, 2023, 8:30 pm Pacific ambling along the bush and berm we were strange company shuffling shoes and shifting sand trailing whispers across the camp a crowd of shadows, a nameless choir musing over waves and fire flocking together sight unknown gathering afield as we roamed missionary roads,
an incomplete vision an imperfect execution yet we persisted yet we who are not you are still here love is seeing potential and committing to the work of realizing it sacrifices, heartbreak feeding the flame
