Daylight

Daylight—another dawn of your

Shaping, another morn brought down

On my head like pristine hammer

To battered anvil, nicks and dings

And scars to contrast your shining.

.

This day of all days marked as the

Last of the year of your leaving,

Signed by us (if not by you) for

A fleeting moment’s reflection

On the gone year’s gains and losses.

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From this seat on this day it seems

All loss—clouds lurking behind full

Sun’s brilliant disk, dark swallowing

The stars’ glimmer, death shadowing

Life’s shallow breath, each timid step.

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You speak a firm—No—and cause the

Bare branches chatter—Touch the cold

Trunks and feel the life thrumming, breathe

The brittle air and find fullness

Beyond dying—pain free, new day.

Yielding Faith

It comes from this:

She alive

Breathing somewhere

In view or not

But that he only know

She is real

Walking life.

That knowledge alone

Reason enough for him

To have faith,

Faith in a world that

Having created her

Must be kind.

Bring the Others Back

There was a morning early in 2012. It came a few weeks into a profound recovery from an equally profound period of grieving the unexpected deaths of my father, my best friend, and my youngest brother in a span of three months. Those deaths had triggered a yearlong darkness characterized by fear, anxiety, depression, and despair. Then, with no warning, a minor discovery precipitated a flood of memories from a long ago and much happier time. And my body and soul, starved of joy for so long, exploded with revived energy, excitement, and wonder that left me giddy.

But this reversal was not without its own challenges as all that pent up energy and its focus on long past events left me wondering how to use this recovery in my current life still indelibly marked by loss. How could I bring that past joy into the scarred present?

In the midst of this struggle, one morning I visited several places that were the settings for some of those distant memories. These visits triggered a rush of feelings so powerful that I could barely find my way home. And once home those emotions only continued to grow, became almost overwhelming, as debilitating in their own way as the grief had been a year earlier.

In panic and desperation, I cried aloud, “What do you want from me?” Our two dogs, already on edge at my manic behavior, fled behind the couch.

Then a voice that was clearly outside my head spoke in a calm and measured tone–six simple statements and a command. The shock of this voice left me suddenly calmer than I’d been in weeks, perhaps years, wiped away all my frustration and anxiety and fear.

I found a scrap of paper and wrote the words I’d heard. Later, I added a heading: God Says. I published the words I wrote down that day in the previous post on this blog.

In the minutes and hours that followed, I never asked myself the origins of the voice. I never wondered if it was really outside my head (and the dogs didn’t say, though they did, eventually, emerge from behind the couch). I never questioned the accuracy of the six statements.

Oddest of all, I didn’t challenge the validity of the voice’s final sentence or the meaning of its command.

The next day I sat down at my desk and began to write, and have not stopped.

God Says

First, I made you

Then, I made you alive

Then, I made myself alive to you

Then, you made me alive to others

Then, I walked with you into death

And brought you back.

Now go—bring the others back.

Visitation

Call down descending ages like

time-darkened corridors in the

abandoned schools of our youth

and she will come.

.

She has for centuries, blessing

with smile and voice and eyes

and touch countless generations

that sought her light.

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She’s here again, has come out at

night this time to stand before

you when the sun breaks the

back of darkness.

.

Don’t fear her presence. She’s

the one true gift you’ll ever

receive. Rise and take the

life she extends

.

Before the change occurs and

she becomes memory or dream

or just a thing that maybe you

once were offered.

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Return kindness. She’s tired

of traveling through ages, wants

to remain here, this place, with

you. Hold her.

.

Welcome her. Say Stay.

Say the word.

.

Stay.

Possession

All those years past we did our

Best each to own the other, case

Him in the room of need, furnished

Fine by the vow of ceaseless care—

Each possession and possessor.

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Thrived decades in those paired roles,

Fire-forged union surviving each

Year’s strains and struggles, the world’s

Diverse assaults no match against

That first promise—promised presence.

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A promise now broken by death’s

Yawning chasm dark, no bridge yet

Found, no way around—possessed now

By a potent jealous lover,

Wrapped in his tangled sheets of loss.

Dream of Not Wanting

Held aloft by hands. All else black.

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Distant memory, rustling murmur

Of hunger acute, thrust urgent

Bodies grasped, grasping, tossed aside

Easy as that. Earned more panting

Chasing more then more, yearning

Piled atop longing, blurred quest

Soul opened on bottomless well

Of need, of hunger, of want. Until

Your hands suspend me in air

Easy as that.

.

Though gone now, still

Floating in darkness deep,

Silent.

Strong Pose

Trailing behind the steady march

Of vivid images, potent memories,

And—of late—sparkling new dreams

Of you, all of you, one after the other,

I struggle to keep up, fear I’m falling

Behind, will soon lose all that’s left

Of you.

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But then one image lags,

Waits for me or comes back—

You in full sunlight beside the garage

In well-worn work clothes and grain-store cap,

Smiling, eyes twinkling, spilling energy

And hope from seemingly endless well—

Father younger than this son now by

Decades, stronger than he by mountains.

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What message in this pose that waited

For me to catch up? What message

Or solace? Any word would help,

Any winged prayer or passing fancy.

.

No sound or sight or whispered

Intimation.

.

Until I suddenly see—your image

Is in black and white, the bounds of

Your world sharply drawn: presence, absence.

Slow dissolved by all our colors. Or

Standing strong against the onslaught.

.

I cling to you for hope.

Adoration

You would say—I didn’t ask

For it, I don’t deserve

It, I don’t want it (or

Maybe just a little).

.

I would say—God placed it

In me to offer it

To you; once given, it

Is given forever.

.

So what do we do with

Blessed vision of perfect

Soul bestowed as highest

Love? With Adoration?

.

God says—I give you this

Glimpse of the Father’s love

For the Son, of the Son’s

Love for you: honor it.

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You would say–Then tell me,

Please, how do I bear it?

I would say—This love is

Pure gift, no weight at all.

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God says—Adorer and

Adored: strength enough, mine.