Fruit Nut

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Sweet plum
Summer’s crown jewel
Ripened
Smiling, still

Though ghosted
Chipped away at
Hollowed out
Cut in two

Bitten off, but not spit out
For I remain
Saucy
Thus, your favorite fruit

Lofty

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I remember temperatures
Made me rise to you
Every opportunity
I leaned in to melt
Never swept the sun away
I bid it come closer
That I would rain down
Begged it then to burn me
Condense and then confine me
Maybe we were clouded
But I couldn’t care
I wanted to be near you
In your lofty air

As It Was

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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

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

City Of

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A woken aura found me

Slow-danced me in silence when I thought to over-think

Baby, flanked in trouble, why?
Come here from over there

With your eyes wide open now
Rest in Me, He said

Dream Uncontained

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A garden growing
Green as they get
Just for me somewhere

I cultivate from afar
Sunlight and truth, I send every day
Prayers pollinating good, good soil and seed

Evenings, my knees feel a joyful exhaustion
As I sleep, a Dream, rooted, yet uncontained, leans closer
Morning dew brings proof the weeds haven’t won

Will I reap?
Will the weeping wither, then fade from memory?
Watch with me