Joelle's Funeral

Well, I have to go to a funeral today,
I don't yet know who I'll see, what I'll say,
but still I'll show up to be quiet; just to be.
For someone has left off of Earth recently.
And that is respected and sacred and sad,
because she was young and her Mom and her Dad
are still here. Oh such a dark mystery to live
and to bury one's children. Oh what we would give
to reverse the details and to rewrite the days.
And though I love God, I'm confused by His ways.
so I won't pretend I'm not grieving with them.
and I won't say, "Oh, but we'll see her again!"
Because we're still here in this pain riddled place
that no longer holds her sweet beautiful face.
Yes, the rest of us, still here; pathetic, in pain,
dressed in black, or in white, (does that matter?) unstained.
Trying to stay dry through this stormy downpour.
I'm not even saying a cute metaphor;
For three days, it's rained, as if  Heaven's great stores
of too many tears have been dripping. It's doors,
they were opened so quickly, then reshut; She's in.
She's free of these shadows, these shackles, this sin.
So I'll bear my part of this sorrow with you,
and weep alongside,  for yes, I loved her too.

Through the wreckage (Some glory just might...)

Through the wreckage,
before it was sorted and cleared,
Those blinding mysterious gold flecks appeared,
And seemed in the sun to be glittery bright,
as if in this horror, some glory just might
defy what had happened; was happening, in spite
of everything ashen and blackened. My sight
Was captured by something defying to glow
through all I had thought had been killing me slow.
And though they were tiny, and scattered apart,
That beauty broke through what was breaking my heart.

Settled

"That's settled, then."
-said she, inside her brain,
while they were in a tunnel
on the train
going to someplace distant.
They'd remained
behind themselves,
until the moving lane
of locomotives boarded
them. The strain
of lights still in the distance
through the rain.
You never go
the same way that you came.
("My Home," she said,
's'just how I say your name.")

Faceless and Nameless

You didn't have a face before I saw you.
Before I saw, you didn't have a face.
But now, though not an artist, I could draw you
with every shadowed wrinkle deep in place.
You didn't have a name before I knew you.
Before I knew, you didn't have a name.
But now, and with this same old pen that drew you,
I'll write your stories, lived before you came.
You simply were not here before I met you.
Before we met, you simply were not here.
But now, you are, and somehow I could bet you
I too was blank before you saw me clear.
For somehow, all those things are true of me, too.
Though at the time, I thought I had a face.
I thought I knew my name, my stories, all true.
Now you've redrawn, rewritten and replaced.

The Place Without Shadows

Burst out of these bones
and fly where you'll go-
the Place Without Shadows that shadows
this land.
But how can that be,
since Itself has no dark, yet I feel now
the Time Without Time close at hand.
How it hovers, in Love,
And coos soft to the Dove
in my ache weighted heart to soar, achless,
and land;
to "Burst forth from these bones
And fly where you'll go-"
The Place Without Shadows
That shadows this land.

Remember The Temple

They weep
who remember the temple
before it was ever destroyed.
And nothing is ever as simple;
no laughter completely enjoyed,
not after the temple was broken,
not after the letter's been sent,
Not after these griefs have been woken,
Not after this garment's been rent.
They try
to rebuild in the clearing
what all of these bricks can't replace.
But you who forgot, keep on cheering,
and try not to look at my face.

No One's Picnic

I walked up to the sight of No One's picnic
And No One else was there, and No One left.
Decided I would stay awhile and visit
 with No One noticing I felt bereft.
And No One wondered if I would like coffee,
So No One asked me if I'd like a snack.
And No one broke the bread so we could share it,
and soon enough I knew I must get back.
Unusual, but I shared No one's picnic,
And No One ate the food I did not get.
And No One talked about the things that matter,
And No One's going to miss me now, I bet.

How Many Miles

How many miles have I travailed as darkness lingered long?
How tired can a person be, how weak what once felt strong?
But I'm just looking for a place to rest my weary head.
I thought that I'd be home by now;
I thought I'd be in bed.
I thought I'd have a Siamese cat, a pillow with a quote,
--something like, 'Let it go, Let God," in cursive, sewn and wrote.
And I'm just looking for a place to rest my weary soul;
I thought that I would have arrived, I thought I would be whole.
I thought the things that chased me here would just as soon be gone.
But I'm just looking at the moon
and waiting for the dawn.