my daily bread

June 26th, 2011 Comments Off

Every morning
while under cover,
I prepare myself
for this daily torture.

A glutton for punishment,
I tempt my eyes, my nose, my ears
with a cacophony of comfort
before whisking it away untouched.

How I could miss something
I have never tasted
is a mystery.

in review

June 25th, 2011 Comments Off

In blindness we trust you, the artist, to carry us.  Though we fear the worst and are tempted to look away when you take us to the edge, we hold our hands to our sides to prevent covering of eyes and ears.  And what blessing comes from this restraint.  At the climax of our fear, the possibility of pain dissolves and we with it.  Into a thousand particles we float and suddenly I am aware that we are all breathing the same air.  The air that flows from you, into me, into him, into her, into you.  We are held suspended, breathing together in this deafening silence.  The silence gives meaning to the sound, and the sound gives meaning to the silence.  The silence and sound are as light emanating from your fingers, your toes, your nose.  With reverence for the real, from the being that brings the bites we savor on our tongues and in our ears, we allow ourselves to connect to the thread that holds us together and binds us to one another.

the what ifs

June 14th, 2011 Comments Off

On a day like today, I might find myself wondering on the drive home from work.  Wondering what would happen should I close my eyes and keep them closed.  Would the lights go out like an overloaded breaker, an explosion in the dark?  Or would they fade almost imperceptibly, like a long decrescendo until I suddenly realized the bow is no longer on the string?  And during this wondering, I might reach up to catch the grief that sits on my cheeks, to save for later.  ”These things should not be wasted,” I might think.  When I get home, the wondering may take me to the roof, where I might hurl my rock and snarl at the moon like a jealous lover.  But then, out of habit I suppose, I might come back inside.  I might have a good idea about what to fix for dinner, which may remind me that sometimes I have good ideas and that days like tomorrow are not usually like today.

this place

June 11th, 2011 Comments Off

Turn the corner, here disorientation.
Nothing familiar, panic in breaths.
Stop stop stop, skin to the ground.

Mind to matter, eyes closed now.
Hands to hips, one foot then two.
Fly fly fly, face to the sun.

Fill the lungs, sip it in.
Count the cracks, glory seeping.
Here here here, home to the heart.

Where am I?

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