the crucifix is exalted before us
the "this is god" ringing in my memory
I tire of groveling
and in this instant
this symbolism is inverted.
we are Lear in the storm,
thrusting the crucifix skyward
into the face of god, crying
"see, hard-heart! this is us!
this is one and all of us."
Every other day it was as if Mom had died
--bearing the pang of tragedy
while tragedy remained ever truant.
Reaction void of action
effect with absent cause
Waht could my conscience pin it on?
He rummages through trunks, stale and deep
and adorns inappropriately
a wholly insubstantial
man of straw
which, once tipped
topples with a soft sound
leaving me sickened and unsatisfied.
My God is a rebel
At Grace Cathedral he marches in the procession
sporting cowboy hat and chaps and a James Dean swagger
On Wall Street, she moves among the traders like Mother Theresa,
revealing and healing the sick
At the High School, he is the dog loose in the halls,
eluding the teachers, tail wag and disorder
At my house, she moves the living room furniture out onto the
lawn
and invites me to be at home in the world
My God is a rebel,
raising up the poor of spirit,
pulling the powerful from their thrones
turning my world upside down
creating a place of chaos
where surprise can happen
I listen and I think there are little feet running towards
me
I never know when it will begin.
River
you said "I will not eat bread until.."
and then you got that faraway look
every stride brought us closer to the river
simon whispers that you mean to swim it
it is madness, of course, and we all believe it
and you dove into the icy depths
and succumbed...
three heartbeats into eternity
you strained at every muscle
and cradled the far bank
like the bosom of your mother
through our tears we could not see for sure
that it was you
until you called to us: "I'm hungry!"
and I laughed until I had to sit down
because my head was spinning
and then I froze with fear
because I knew that you meant for us
to bring you bread
Sort of a longing for the culmination of things
extreme discomfort
at sight of a circle abandoned incomplete
How do you sleep with problems unsolved?
Love hung unbalanced
if only it would fall one way or the other
at rest in joy or sorrow
either is preferable
to suspense.
Rivers reach oceans, don't they?
Or they evaporate beneath scorching orb
Damned and unfulfilled.
Perhaps my path has strayed
but I have lost my river
and fear that I shall never know...