On the Island

On the Island

(“Your Father in heaven feels the same way. He doesn’t want to lose even one of these simple believers.” Matthew 18:14 [The Message])

Now fall asleep on the island of disconnect in the late winter
and isolation. The later the day, the
more acute the angles,
until the corner closes in on
your final remaining choices.

Fastened to your memory, the daylights of a hundred previous friends
light one moment where tears fall like crystals loosely from
grandma’s costume necklace.

The winds scatter your artwork, photos of you and the cast,
the actors who seldom diluted affection in the days we thought
we had captured every treasure and the jewels we would ever need.

Now where are we, island upon island, waters so swift
we only wave between the ships floating loaded
past our cinnamon bread morning? The winds howled
last night and noon the same; afternoon’s laughter
may find broken sunshine teasing our hope.

I know we spoke years ago, and you have forgotten my name.
I know we read the lines, fastening new disguises on our faces,
never knowing the actor; we played the parts so well.

But today I‘d give everything I have to know you over again,
to keep you closer again, to speak you truer again, to let love
find me, find you, find the entire cast and crew, newly
loved like older we were. I would find the courage
to never lie; you would find the smile we packaged
when we heard the story you once only told. We would
light a campfire, scan the smoky hills past dusk

And wait the Father’s voice to bring us all back home,
the voice we waited a lifetime to recall.