Sorrow mourns over
a year; Rage burns up a moon
Joy sings but a fleet
moment: hyacinth fragrance
sweet, an ephemeral breath.
sweet on a breeze too soon passed.
sweetens a breeze too soon passed.
sweet, an ephemeral breath.
Waiting to be made Good
despairing here abandoned
trapped in the deeps
between the firmaments
the points of life above
the speckled infinities within
drowning in the deeps
waiting maybe for the spirit of God
to move across the face of the waters
for an evening and a morning
I don’t know where my soul is
to seek, or find or knock, or open
or any redeeming thing
anything would be welcome here
an hallucination for a Comforter
a seizure for an angel
my soul is a world without form, and void
and nothing earthly can fill it
or give shape to it; it shall all be torn away
endlessly old I can scarce believe
in becoming new
The rescued cat
huddles
in the old chicken coop.
Not knowing, as I do,
that it is safe.
This foolish elf
broods
in her decaying tree.
Not knowing, as God does,
what uses there may be left
in her life.
10/2012
Freelance writer and video editor, and indie author
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