pulled

we must always veer
from extremes
lest our fears
became reality.

one vision may evoke
that path marked off,
fear of choking
killing possibility.

I have found
leaving all open
provides ample ground,
while footing of stone
keep us from slipping under deserts of direction,
from quipping into sink hole
left unknown.

well kown, well grown are we!
who come so far just to find
ambiguity.

more so than me,
Morse code conducts conversations caught
click by click
in hesitant heresy.

to make voice less than human; to give but beepping rhyme,

but, oh, how I am guilty
of taking the reality out of rational.

my own compromise disguises my fears;
my fears disguising my own compromise

and Job telling, "God, what gives"
And Biliad blaming me,
"You see! what unrighteousness have ye?"

but though pits fall,
they grow again.
once spit out from juicy flesh,
must die to bring forth more.

where is the line of dying and death?
what constitutes difference of noun and verb,
like ser and estar we are told;
gringos just learning the difference between state and fact:

if dying is to be made darker,
then death is to remain dark.
but even pain fades,
till every tear is wiped away.

smile

i wonder if your smile
was ever for me.
pursed, photo lips because
you thought
"she'll see this."

i hope not.

it would just be

another lie.

hard.

I don't like to say that things are hard.
perhaps, because them i am weak,
perhaps, because then i am complaining,
perhaps, because then i am challenging the path i am on,

challenging my ability to press on.

I don't like to say that things are hard.
maybe, because then i could give myself grace,
maybe, because then i would have less responsibility,
maybe, because then i'd have to rely on other humans for support

and i don't want to do that.

i want to speak of you,
to speak with you,
to have you here.

not because i want you,
but because i miss you

and this is hard.

but, i can in no way speak,
make no sound that may ripple your surface,
that may tremor your experience far away.

instead, i'll pray.
because this is hard.

first snow

they whirled in ,
giving form to sharp cold that had been biting ears,
presenting softness, reflecting our blankets much more than the air they inhabited.

the sun shown,
adding brilliance to arrival of first snow,
and i thought, momentarily, that i wanted you here to share fervent flurries;

as quickly as they came,
their parade withered down to wet sidewalks,
leaving no trace of their grand austere that, for moments, dominated our world.

and i am left
with meltings of you, dampening my heart.
the fading of reality, distant as exquisite  crystal tracings in warm palms.

is our story the same as white blankets melted?

play dead

Done

with 

idle

pretending

that 

wounds

 myself

and everyone else

including you

who I thought

I was

protecting.

foolish child.

no such thing

as protecting.

only pretending.

Am I Done

pretending 

that i want you?

goshen autumn

distracted as the side walk
who slopes down to puddle rain
contemplation disturbed
by a thousand pinches of refrain

distracted as the button
given much stress
not asked to do more than its occupation
but threaded with cords of unrest.

distracted as the pages
flipped through by one fervently searching
no answer to be found unless taken
slowly
to hear the sound of each finger turning.

distracted, but not dismissed
not present, but tallied any how.
the presence of form does not excuse the lack of response when called,
the lack of a verbal, "Here."

no. the pane rattles too eloquently to be ignored.
it also requires my presence
as round gems form on slippery slope--
who else will trace their path?

I am needed to take notice
to watch the rain as others adhere to the lesson--
less than wanting of my distraction
that chills essence as we rub our palms,
gray howling noise in the distance becomes
my anthem.

not very far are those outside.

tangled mess

"I led them 

with cords of human kindness, 

with ties of love; 

I lifted the yoke from their neck

and bent down to feed them."

Who is speaking?

does this not sound like the carpenter?

I tell you the truth,

these words were spoken

before his body was broken;

before we replaced his body

in unity

as the body of Christ.

Already,

Yahweh speaks

of humans

as his hands,

handed down from the nation

the new testament

holds nothing new. 

"How can I give you up, Ephraim? 

How can I hand you over, Israel?

My heart is changed within me; all my compassion is aroused."

From where is this passage?

not from the mouth of Christ,

but from before
him who was

before.

How then, can any call my God

cruel?

because we suffer the actions of fellow humus?

because pain plays part 

in our existence?

you run the risk 

of ruin

 when you create,

run the risk 

of pain

when you live,

run the risk

of loss

when you love,

in this world.

Take Heart.

 He has over come the World.