95–Waiting for Her

get to work i tell myself

though every excuse in the

universe is riding in my hip

pocket still i sit here looking

intently at the 300 pages i

have written waiting for

god to say what she would

like me to do with it

94–Split Open

often i feel that somone

steals from me though i

tend to give away freely

how will the truth of

this oneness penetrate my losses?

But There Is an Inner Radiance

You might slip, you might slide, stumble and fall by the roadside
but don’t let nobody drag your spirit down. I’m talking to you.
Eric Bibb, “Don’t Let Nobody Drag Your Spirit Down”

No warning and the perigee moon has already risen,
has spanned the low horizon and entered the tangle
of cottonwood branches. How you’d wanted to catch

it sooner, watch it inch over the mesa top. But there
were no bells to herald its glow. No choirs to announce
its ascension. At least you didn’t miss it entire—this low-

hanging phase where it beams through the trees and appears
unnaturally large. Such illusion. You’d think that the moon
could be trapped in the limbs, could stay with you here all night,

Oh! To be able to hold it, to keep it near, to reach
eastward and pluck it from night with bare hands,
cradle it, and then, then what? We cannot own what shines.

And the moon continues its climb. There is no loneliness
deep as this. Longing to hold what cannot be held.
And watching it beam at you, brilliant and distant.

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93–Mooning god

spring sings in the darkness

of seeds deciding to prance

their possibilities clouds

open their long closed dark

doors and pour out a mixture

of rapture with an edge of fear

our planet spins other stars come

near earth opens her belly and

quakes and in our small bed

we tremble with small ecstasies

how we all look like you

92–for each

for each moment

i praise you

for each hardship

my heart sings

gratitude

for each way you

appear in a cloud

of harshness or light

i dance the watusi

for each newness

and the old old songs

i prostrate myself

and rest here in your womb

91–god on my tongue

sometimes this daily bread is

all that feeds me the other dailies

eat away the stores of

gladness i had saved for morning

so i return to this breath of god

this love letter format taste

delicate godlove on the tongue

of my earliest gladness though

harsh words shatter the stillness

my hope is in you sweet lover

always  all here though sometimes the

night is not kissed into morning

i come back to all and taste

your tongue with my morning coffee