I should’ve spoken to the sower
Not the flower, not the fruit
It was the Earth upon its axis
Not fault of the sunrise
Aiming accolades at More!
I’m complicit cursing less
You did never plan we’d meet in California
I was never meant to see you in the Spring
As for our near-miss in Eastern Colorado
Call it fate, or God’s permit, or some damned thing
I am to go deep with you
Some say I have
Some ask what for
I know there’s no secret You
No obscure path
No hide and seek
I, Earthbound, in need of you
You, Smith…I, rod
You, Shield…I, scout
It is enough for me, the breeze today. To let it waft over me, and with it, bring a strength.
Beauty and curiosity, like a bleached-comb Cardinal, often ride on such air. This morning, though, wisdom arrived.
This morning, the wind asked for my resolve: A halt to crying over others’ big promises and small feet. The stop to the bruises I allow.
A decision that I am enough. The God who created me said so.
This weekend, a storm of understanding is predicted. An Eastern Bluebird cannot be far behind.
An almost is
All live somewhere in the ether
A god of sorts, and my muse, how you made me
Created me and made me reach
Let me cry, watched me love
Let me down, helped me up
Some universe, somewhere is missing what dust
What if an angel is all that you were made to be
A guardian with no human arms in the ever of time to guard you
A servant among an army of servants, hosting the faint and heartsick
A consecrated one, bringing stranded souls back together
What if God’s breath is the all you were made to be
Why did you act like water and feel like hands
And I, born thirsty with never a progenitor to touch me
Why did I, the reluctant saint, concede nonetheless to True North’s tug
And you, the only lesser god ever worth worshipping