As It Was

Living must be

A constant cleaning of the crimes in the outermost corners of outbuildings on the back forty of whatever land we’re fortunate to shepherd

A diligent organizing of each and every backshelf, closet, drawer, and centerpiece of these blessed bodies of truth we call Home Sweet Home

An earnest sweeping of matter that ultimately, doesn’t matter, but made its way to the front stoop and attempted to exert squatter’s rights

An eventual Welcome sign placed humbly, breathlessly, on each door we’re otherwise prone to leave sealed up tight, that we would embrace again

Creation must be

From Defeat

Gingerly
Silently
From a place of respect
From defeat

Not yet ready for the early morning lack
The streets still littered with the chaos that ensued
I close the door

From the other side
I ask, To Whom can I turn

He tells me Yes, and shepherds me to sunlight

Gut

These thoughts circle ’round
Not quite coming home until
More precisely
Rustled in 
By a dutiful cattle shepherd or the gravitational pull
Of intuition initially dismissed

But that dog in the dust 
He knew 
What I didn’t want to know, I knew
And that summer solstice 
Which is never late
Saw me bow to its truth