thinking at human speed, writing from human need
Where I end May you begin Pick up What I had to put down A future with no past Take away What I had to leave Ever only at the last Carry on Without my burdens Beneath the glow of my dreams Walk along The torrent of my hopes Skipping
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,
