Two Dreamers

Our dreams align
at half past nine
(Or twenty one;
the day most done)
then break again
at half towards ten
to morning joy
(one girl, one boy)
through middle day
part work, part play
here twelve arrives
at honey hives;
the sticking power
of Golden Hour-
(You could say Six
or eighteen) licks
the lasting light
'til dark; goodnight.
I'll dream of you
at twenty two
(or ten? Just past-
these hours won't last-)
You dream of me
at twenty three
then Twenty Four
begins once more

Anxious, Honest Prayer

Unclench my heart,
so I can hear your voice.
Unwrap, unroll,
expose to me your choice.
For in Divine exposure,
 glory blinds
all darkness and despair.
 It gently finds
the deepest wound,
to air out and to heal,
replacing fear and doubt
with what is real.
Unclench my heart,
so I can hear your voice
And I'll be changed;
Your changing is my choice.

Deep and Through it

The River came crashing down one day
Where all the fishies like to play
The River came crashing down to say,
"Kerplash, glib glub, cherchoffen."

It sounded like joy and peace combined
Like hope and glee had intertwined
and bubbling over stones that time
had not removed, but softened.

The River came wiggling down its course
It's cadent voice did not get hoarse.
It did not ask me why, just poured
itself out. Deep and through it.

The River, it did not show the way
my path would flow. It did not say
"You'll be ok, sweet child"  as day
was breaking. But I knew it.

You are not a ghost

Dear Precious, you are not a ghost, though you have walked through walls
I had thought impenetrable, past vast echoing ancient halls
built inside my heart, so lonely, so alone and howling there
in that room where no one saw me. I was never so aware
that there might be hope here, Darling, you could sit and listen, then
grab my hand and walk now with me to a newly aching land.
You are not a ghost, my Dearest, though your Spirit touches mine,
for your fingers, topped with skin so brown and bruised, now intertwine,
and I feel them solid. Firmness due to muscles, bones, and blood
where this dust road stings our eyes that drip the trailhead into mud.
Let us weep and go together, for the dream we love the most
could not exist if you were so invisibly a ghost.