sundown approaches and
we wonder
what it is
we've been waiting
for. all the striving
settles like
dust turning
to damp dirt
beneath our feet.
our lives, like a crumpled
piece of paper
toss and turn unevenly
across the grass, away.
it was for this moment
this one glimpse
where despair kisses
the Great Coming
of All Being.
it was, finally,
for this exact death
we've waited, so to enter
into the hope
of all that Is.

you are a gentle light
to me. leading to pastures
cool from evening's shade.
i kneel down and wait
knowing your faithfulness
will come and gather
me home.

Mary Oliver: The Fist

There are days
when the sun goes down
like a fist,
though of course

if you see anything
in the heavens
in this way
you had better get

your eyes checked
or, better still,
your diminished spirit.
The heavens

have no fist,
or wouldn't they have been
shaking it
for a thousand years now,

and even
longer than that,
at the dull, brutish
ways of mankind --

heaven's own
creation?
Instead, such patience!
Such willingness
to let us continue!
To hear,
little by little,
the voices --

only, so far, in
the pockets of the world--
suggesting
the possibilities

of peace?
Keep looking.
Behold, how the fist opens
with invitation.


From: Thirst

obedience

Obedience
will not suffocate you.

It will break you open,
shatter
that dead shell
you have called living.
It will demand your
(yes your)
presence in territories
unseen
and look to you
for the language
to describe their beauty.

It will birth the shy bird living
silently
inside your being
and make her sing.