Monday, June 24, 2013

Amputated Moon

O amputated moon
half the woman you once were
hanging in an early morning sky
emptying yourself of light

Sunday, June 2, 2013


the light in the sanctuary is dim
blues and shadows play
as the flickering votives are lit

alone without distractions

I call out to the Holy
echoes and light
splinter around the cross

wheels and wings in the air

as the world around
molders in want and need
You alone remain in the end

Word that punctuates silence


traveling along the border country
not here and not there
lost in shadows of almost

I heard God speaking in Spanish
brown hands with knuckles swollen
working the dough with care

angels glowing in the sunset
grinding wheat into fine flour
fetching water in pitchers of cool stone

she spoke to me in her holy language
of foreign manna and living water
her dark eyes meeting mine

I took and ate
lowered my head for her blessing
and then journeyed on