Elephant shapes

Elephant shapes                                                                    

This spinning earth from time to time,

may turn my head

but, I dare not long neglect my duties –

too many who depend on me, eyes uncertain asking –

How are things on your side?  Any news from up river? 

Father shuffling toward another death,

mother befuddled with fear;

loved ones sent out daily to gather

fresh greens in abandoned minefields.

Whistle while you work, my Beloved advises,

but, keep digging.

The stench of death is on the breeze;

crocodiles at the watering hole,

only their eyes visible above the surface.

I keep an ear to the rail; gleaning

what I can from the shimmering air –

for my own files, of course,

but also, for loved ones

who keep asking for the truth

of rescue and escape.

I’ve little time left for puttering about,

pursuing pleasure, 

arguing in the dark over elephant shapes.

O child of God, everything is in His hands and yet,

there’s much work to be done before winter sets in.

True disciple

True disciple                                                                                          
 
They didn’t know You from Adam –
those who hanged You from a cross,
 
but Thomas fingered Your wounds,
made sure You were Who You said You were.
 
I would touch Your wounds, Lord, if I might,
to know the depths of Your sacrifice,
 
thrust my hand into Your side to explore the nature
of Your compassion and surrender,
 
but I haven’t the heart of a true disciple.   
I garland Your stone, praise You to high heaven,
 
endure the small prices You ask me to pay.
You, knowing and forgiving the fragility
                                                             
and cowardice of a heart so shallowly pledged.  
That’s why we call You Father of Mercy.
 
O child of God, whosoever will, let him come
and take freely the water of Life.

  

Darkness gathers

Darkness gathers                                                                      

I used to panic not feeling Your touch,

but now I know – You’re only adjusting Your grip.

You have Your hand on me! 

That’s the rare kernel of this odd, random life;

my comfort in this dreamscape

of impairment, bewilderment and fear.

I’ve gladly forked over all my cash.

The truth will come out in the end.

Someone will be by to collect my ticket.

I’ll give him the one You purchased.

Authorities will ask for my papers.

We’ll find out who I really am.

Darkness gathers as the train hurtles

toward the outer provinces;

the cold sharpens; tongues become stranger

and more raucous.

I panic when I get the notion I’m a lone traveler.

I don’t know where I’m going!  But Your valise is by the window.

Your scent lingers in the narrow compartment.

You’ve just stepped out for a bit of air.

O child of God, you want freedom from pain.

Love is an acid that dissolves everything you hold dear.