Ode to Process

Ever changing ours the journey
Shift we down life’s earthly path
God’s fresh new way we long to be

Moments bloom from wombs maternal
Resurrection ever present
Newness springs from ground eternal

Toward your vision lure us always
Though incomplete and not yet done
Bringing heaven forth in our days

Ever present, ever flowing
Longed for constant fountain of life
For newness praise to you we sing

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No, you will not run from this reality

You will see my pain

touch my anguish

You must see it

I must show it to you

because my pain

is your pain

is our pain

Do not be afraid you will not lose yourself

it will not swallow and consume you

we will find each other

discover the source of

disconnection

Gilman

Wind through Gilman at every opportunity
follow the meandering road
past corn and bean field
down main street
through four-way stops and over the railroad
the path reminds your heart of it origins
whispers of memories stored in a small town

Walk to Class

Most days I look and all I see is cement
cold, hard, ashen, gray brick

not death exactly, but something like it
sterile, harsh boxes designed to separate one life from another
It is not that life is gone
only that I forget to notice it
to look up and see the sun
to look left and see the geese, the pine trees
to look right and see a pregnant woman

to look down and see weeds growing through cracks

I'm surrounded by life, filled with life

born from stars
a part of the web and all that
but life

yes life itself

has become
routine at best and backdrop at worst

The Wind

curse the wind
nothingness that is somethingness

my life was a pile of sand
i held in my hand
that arbitrary yet powerful force
has blown it from my hand
scattered and swirled it
order has flipped to chaos
and now
down on my knees
tweezers in hand
i move to gather once again
the grains of life

i will create a new pile
but it will be different than what was there before

Anchors

a collection of Anchors
Anchors that have never been on board a ship
never sailed out to sea
to drop to the deep
solidify, steady
provide place and assurance

Anchors collected in preparation
for a journey not yet taken
I cannot use them, they do not fit other boats
will not work for another journey
But neither can I let them go

Anchors to past
dreams and visions that may not be

Kenneth

An Uncle whom I
never knew
Can you lose something you never had?
His watch on my wrist
His trombone at my lips
His name, a rubbing, on the fridge
I mourn the loss of
An Uncle whose presence
I've always known