Things With Strings

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See that small farm right there
See those young and old kids

Mine and his

Toys and mischief, solemnity and instruments strewn about
All things with strings — what heaven these things

Animals, there’s no choice

Alpacas, needing to wake us at dawn but, agreeable, settle in for the night before our dinnertime

Ebony dogs and snowy white chickens
No cows, but a cowboy

Keeps his white hat far back in our closet on a shelf and never puts my heart on a shelf

Comes home from work on time and Saturdays are his and mine

We get greasy together under the cover of some good old American steel

In the polebarn back there, muscle-bound memories we rebuild

Sundays are God’s, he says — how he leads the way, putting all striving aside for the day

On his knees each night in prayer

No need to prove himself to me ever again since he put me on a pedestal there in his heart of gold

Our house on a hill, our kids and our farm

His eyes and his time and his life

His gifts to me, Amen and Amen

And All The People Said

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Let the sounds in — all of them!

Have them ramble around, bouncing off the humidity-coated walls

See which ones bust through stop signs and find rhythm with bird songs

Find which ones look like quiet conviction and calls to action

Then mull about together, dialogue, and make sense of this world with them

Create order from disorder and call it good again

At the end of the day, we must