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.)