What might we share?
Except for some source of light
And the cello muse
I won’t pretend to know
I like soft things
You like the edge
I’m drawn to abbeys
You’re from the deep
I flirt with irreverence
You respect me
So maybe we could stand
A day or year
A treaty, here
Praise The Rock from which The Water flows
Not far from Jordan
An hour, now, clutching the cold morning coffee, an acrid-filled, comfortless cup.
Consumed, we, with what’s bearing down at the door — bellowing “more, more, and more!”
Will this new blanket be warm enough, this day sustain hope beyond the front-porch light?
Still, dawn’s bright, there, without, meets a heat — long-stored and stoked — here, within.
Demure fireworks, we
Metal salts creating light
Where, perfection, do you dwell
If not in the touch of one who loves me well
In the curiosity contained within the eyes
Of the soul searching, undisguised
For the compass contained within my center
For permission granted for which to enter
Green acres comin’
To this dustbowl, sure as hell￼
On holy lightning￼￼