Wednesday, June 29, 2011

June 30. Thirty words.

 

Child arise,
stir the glitter of motes
till sun turns red,
but gather the grey,
under your arm,

that amazing weight
measures pain and slows time.

It defines hope.




*

Sunday, June 26, 2011

June 26. Twenty-six Words.



 
Pain 
is a glass angel
directing the soul,
a glint of fire,
when the heel comes down...

small tinks scattered on the pavement…

so you stop.


*
 

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

June 22. Twenty-Two Fleshy Words





Skin
completely
covers us with feeling,

a soft gauze to hold us in and

hold back small leakages:

both comforter and comforted.

*
 

Monday, June 20, 2011

June 21. Twenty-One Words.



The heart 
has it’s own nervous system,

developed before the brain's 
nervous system

a few weeks after conception, 
heart cells beat.


  

Sunday, June 19, 2011

June 19. Nineteen Words




Imagine the river of the aorta as pristine, 
a heartland, inside the swamp of body, 
unpolluted enough for God…



 *
  

  

Thursday, June 16, 2011

June18. Eighteen words.




We don’t have that many words for fire—
the hand and heart of light—
warming 
consuming.





*
 

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Tuesday, June 7, 2011