the rescued lamb

Silence
----confusing.
An aching heart.

Silence
----formidable
A raging heart.

Silence
----clarifying
A chastened heart.

Silence
----releasing
A guided heart.

Silence
----reconciled
a beloved heart.

Austenland

But of course--
the love you broadcast is generous
and you will remember me,
and your heart is so big,
(mine sequins and brand-new chocolate wine,
when I stare over the brink of Capulet hill
and wonder for what design are you a Montague?)
While the real Frank William Abagnale, Jr. stands up,
and his shadows still run and dodge the hounds,
the real godfather could not have played his own part!
whose portraits discover themselves and outshine the rest.
Your stage made my heart pound!
A breathless community sits ecstatic and ready to enter the better, louder, more beautiful blue kingdom of avatars,
until the lights turn brown and hands fall to gathering spent bills.
So go, .....go drimk to th-e-a-tt-r-e,
toast all the fadings of the dream.
Rush to sleep; there if you pretend you're unafraid, thus choose your destiny.
Not in basements, but on your familiar rooftop dream-sharing happens;
mountains of sacrifice all built upon earth so the highest terraces reach dream height.
Dear frand----------
Genie, ....genie----
I saved that wish
for you
(who art so much bigger than I, living the blue)

resistance

Reading,

Allowing the surroundings to settle as they will.

Reading,

I used to fly over the tablelands of an open book, grasping only landmarks, ignoring what I did not comprehend, hungry for simple happiness.

Reading,

Academia said stop.start.stop.start.make notes.ask questions.
But with no innate curiosity about the subject beyond its obvious landmarks, where was the joy?

Reading,

for pleasure.

Now, researching something of interest:
not stopping out of duty,
but because I can't read another sentence without knowing more.  Words, not new to me, yet in three decades I never learned the meaning; descriptions of artifacts and places and geographies: I will not go on without looking up so many unknowns!  On this occasion I am immensely grateful for the internet at my fingertips.

Reading,

with instant coffee, cloudy and stale.
Leaves outside wait for me to come to a good stopping place.
I vacuum autumn out of the recently shampooed carpet.
Like the tired people in my reading, I seem always to be waiting for something...

Reading, at least, purposeful.
With big eyes, along the edge of a chessboard.

Reading,
once for what I knew,
now for what I don't.

72

the flutter of the vocal chords
words I can almost understand,
and sounds that make sense.
Audio of another language I begin to love.

Is it too late?
It is 72 degrees there,
and seeing that stat gave me a moment of access
to how much I loved being there and didn't want to leave.
the final night
looking sadly in the face of the blazing moon
fluttering curtains
breathing that place,
tears.
I must relive a little in order to press on.
and
/finally, a little rain!

Writing on the wall

It's not the little guy but his brother

who lead in a whole gang

and the ostriches are bagged,

oh Lord, I am feeble in heart

as the money machines with the souls of tight-lipped or drooling demons

make batteries out of a million ants.

Help me to stop trying to save my life,

as this ship heats up.

I remember Your magnitude

because I am just a dust mote.

The sheep stone the shepherd

and they skip every direction, bleating.

I lose my interest in all this cardboard,

history of a people and its art

who sigh under squidly beaks

and laughing, laughing, drinking, sinking.

Fixed gazes, inward stares;

drink the kiss and paint the frack-well green.

a screen.

I have no sustainable resource to configure upon this stone of grace--

Help me stop trying to save my life--

my soul faints--

Oh, my beloved Shepherd.

When Airplanes Land

Far above the Great Sea the airplane approached a coast I have known since childhood.  I pressed tears against the porthole, thanking God for the moment.  The view did not flash by; that airplane gently circled and circled while I drank in the sight of the waves far below and that coastline, for a full half-hour, before a straightened course took us lower and lower among the popped-up concrete, until tires caught onto the runway.

Coming out of the cradle of the sky is always a bit of a letdown until the beauty that is to come takes over and new combinations of laughter ring.  And a little girl loses her balloon and cries while Bugs Bunny grins down at her from the ceiling.  It was easy for us to laugh while she grieved.

Inside Zeno's paradox, still shots crowd in upon themselves to resist the passing of time.
But at 16, 24, or a thousand frames, the reel clatters on.

I think there is something deeply disobedient about clinging so furiously to still shots of time.
(As I thought about this, an mp3 sang:
Lesson number one, overcome 
Every fear of regret and confusion 
It’s all illusion, delusion 
Sent to disconnect the holy fusion 
Of spirit and the flesh 
http://joshgarrels.bandcamp.com/track/the-resistance)

Losing myself in Zeno's paradox may be so much like sitting down cross-legged on the race track set before me (and the clock still ticks).

Good and bad? Or just different colors?

Jehovah-Jireh

I have enough.
Bless the Lord.

the knot of searching for answers melts:
I have what I need.
Bless the Lord, oh my soul.

I have what I need--
I have enough.
The answers do not lie in the things piled high that hid a king,
He provides and has provided
the answers are not merchandise to find.
Thank the Lord.
Provider.