On peace, left with us. An autumn poem.

all around, grace
cathedrals
the liturgy longed
for in the whitewashed
clapboard weary
world
all around, mercy
symphonies
the dry bones of
summer finally finding
technicolor
hope
all around, peace
preaches
eschatology reserved
for rough hewn pews
under azure
skies

*
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Empty earthquakes.

Do you ever want to hold your hands over your ears and make the noise go away?

Or maybe you prefer the loud beat of drums and the tremble of the ground as guitars and harmonies blend towards the heavens.

But lately I can’t find Him there.

In the noise.

And so I seek a whisper

Soft and warm on my

weary

ears.

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Another day another dollar.

I came home worn and beat down from another day another dollar
spent surfing stations trying to escape the heart rend of a brave man in
orange
breathing his last
Another day another dollar spent putting hands on cancer and aging and healing and dying
Another evening wanting only to put my feet up but there
he
is
my wide-eyed son too old to waste a single moment soothing my own ache when he says
Look, mama
So I do
And our toes curl against the warm wet stone of the patio where we stand watching the storm clouds push to the east as the fire of another day-end ignites the sky
Pink then purple then last of all
orange
And there ain’t no dollar I wouldn’t pay to make sure I don’t miss
me
my boy
and the sunset.

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