Keeping the Wolf at Bay

His embarrassment was painful
To see.
Were I able I would have
Smoothed the lines
From his face
Would have given him some hope.

But his trouble exceeded
My magic.

It did not require a seer
To read his thoughts.

“How am I going to tell my wife
My kids
I can’t keep the wolf at bay?”

Sometimes the only thing to do
Is do nothing at all.
I gave him time
To embrace his despair.

Sometimes a man needs
Someone to stand with him
And watch his world crumble.

Soon I will sit on his side of the desk.
When that time comes
I hope the one sitting where I now sit
Has the compassion and the sense
To stay quiet
While my life implodes.

He rose to his feet
Shook my hand
And thanked me.

He thanked me.

I avoided his eyes
Because in them I knew
I would see myself
Looking back, saying
“You’re welcome.”

It Doesn’t Matter

Times slows
Seems to stop.
There is no traffic
No chatter from pedestrians.
Even birds hush
As I focus on that which
Fastens my attention.

The cool breeze
Is just enough
To lift your hair
Like ribbons
Golden brown
Waving in the flashing
Afternoon sun.

You’ve turned your head
Toward whatever caught your eye
Then see me
Watching you.

And you smile.

“What?” you ask.
But how can I explain
My thoughts?
Why is it I think better
In verse
Than my tongue can express?
But it doesn’t matter.
You already know.
You read it in my eyes
See it in my face
Feel my heart
Know my mind.

I smile
And you smile back.

“I love you,” I say.
You lay your head on my shoulder.

And the world moves again.

Everything

I listened carefully to every
Nearly imperceptible
Treasure.

The slow
Steady increase
In your breathing.

The soft click
Of your tongue
At the back of your throat.

The sandy slide
Of your hand
Moving up my arm.

The airy sigh
Of your hair
Spreading over your pillow.

The silky glide
Of your lips
Tender on mine.

The fleshy union
Of our bodies
Joining together.

Everything resonated
Made perfect sense
Filtering into my heart.

I heard it all
And I hear it still.
All of it.

Everything.

Something Spiritual

There is something spiritual
About the rain.

Clouds close above
Like the Temple veil
Separating the congregation
From the Holy One.

Ozone refreshes the air
As incense
Fragrances the sanctuary.

Lightening flashes
Sizzles and bursts
Like pure Presence
Flowing from the Throne.

Thunder rolls
Echoing from hill to hill
Across the plaines
Even to the valleys
Like the voice
Of One whose
Name
Is hushed from lips of clay.

Liquid sky
Flows in small rivers
Down my face.
I open my arms
Receiving the gift
As renewal of my soul.

In the streams I stand
As one baptized
In the River of Life.

Rainfall is in part
What is coming
As the whole.

There is something spiritual
About the rain.

Behind Me*

The jangle of
The Blues
The rhythm
Of the beat
The blend of rum
And Coke
Makes the sadness sweet.

The dim and smoky air
The smell
Of booze
And sweat
Makes a man
Feel his loss
And dwell on what he can’t forget.

What happened
To the sun?
When did it start
To rain?
Where did
Yesterday go?
And why am I in this pain?

It’s better to
Walk away.
Some questions are
Best not asked.
Tomorrow’s beyond
That door
And behind me is the past.

(*This poem comes from the experience of the most difficult time in my life, eleven years ago. I am no longer this man, but I am the construct of the pain and redemption of my path. We all are.)

A Stone Wall

There is a void in the air
An empty pocket
In which nothing stirs
Neither dust nor debris.

Shadows enter
But do not exit
Sound is muted
Everything stills to nothing.

The emptiness
Has your form
And hovers about me
Everywhere I go.

I utter words
But they bounce back
As though opposed
By a stone wall.

How cold, this emptiness!
My breath rises in vapor
My flesh chills and blues
In its presence.

Nobody sees it but me.
It is palpable
Presses me
Is always there.

It is an unblinking stare
Like snow blindness
A piercing gaze
Seeing beyond my soul.

It took your place the instant
You left
And will remain
Until you return.

Event Horizon

I remember
Your eyes
Searching mine
The passing of an
Unseen marker
That signified the changing
Of everything.

My chest
Is still warm
Flushed
Where your open palm
Tattooed my heart.

I remember
The softness
Of your lips
The desire
In your kiss.

I remember
Insistent hands
Welcome me
Your body
Responding to mine.

We pledged our love
Planting our lives
Each in the soil
Of the other.

I remember
Your breath moist
Against my throat
Your sigh soft
In my ears.

Your relentless desire
Stays with me still
Your laughing joy
Searching gaze.

I know you
The way men know
The geography of frontiers
Astronomers the vastness
Of star systems
I know you
The way hawks know
Grasslands
The way sailors know
Seas
Priests know
The Host.

I know you.

Do not mistake me.

You are not
A treasured experience
Thrilling memory
Or turning point
In my life.

No, my love.

You are the
Event Horizon.
The only one
In my life.

Clutter

It’s hard to find me
In the clutter.

Look carefully
At what I do
And yearn to do.

But that is not me.

Search for me
In my poetry and prose
But all you’ll map is
The imprint of my soul.

I am not my
Logic
Or IQ.

Not in my laughter
Smile
Or tears.

Not in my speech
Heartbeat
Or fears.

I am undiscovered in
Physical or
Emotional
Wounds.

I am not merely flesh
Nor spirit.

I am not whole in my thoughts
Nor complete in my expressions.

You cannot fully know me
By those who love
Or fear me.

All this is
Clutter.

I know this
To be true…

Because I’ve been
In the hunt
All my life.

Will You Sing For Me?

Will you sing for me?

Let the wind
Sift your hair
The fair sun
Warm your shoulders
Around which
I draped my arms
On days innocent
And new.

Will you sing?

Waters warm and fresh
Bathed us
In earthen pools
Cleansed us
Held us
As the womb holds life
Birthing
Hope for what might be.

But will you sing?

Fire lit our loving
Warmed us
Twined into the other
Its crackle masking
Our joy
In yellow-amber shadows
Dancing
Decorating the walls around.

Won’t you sing?

My breath is yet in my throat
Heart in mid-beat
Fingers half-closed
Eyes half-opened
Waiting
Waiting…

For your song.

Waiting Patiently

There’s a plot of land
Somewhere
Just three feet wide
Seven long
Six deep
Waiting to embrace me.

Populated by weeds
And earthworms
The loam is damp
And cold
Black as eternal night
Firm as the hope of heaven.

Let it be on a hill
Looking over a river
Within the call
Of a coal train
Beneath the patrol
Of a brown hawk.

Let it be near
Leaning stones
Marking the bones
Of those
Who went before
Able to point the way.

Let the wind sigh above me
That I might mistake it
For grieving moans
For the wail
Of a lover’s lonesome
Call.

It’s been waiting for me
Patiently.
Knows I am coming
Slowly, reluctantly
But surely
Moving into its grasp.