Quietly In

Quietly In

What stains keep happy from most likely,
and what past-times keep dance from poised feet?
Why is it harder to find what we long for the most,
harder to arrive closely the nights we repent our loss?

Why is weeping required, or bawling a badge awarded;
tears your certain detergent, wailing the proof of your bath?
Prayer is your way of proving, oh so holy, and louder than the rest.

I am at a loss, this time of year, this year of life,
and long to find a studied path, a quiet walk with a friend or two
whose tastes have changed. We’ve thrown away our pictures
of angels hovering over the shoulder of favorite evangelists;
tossed the tapes memorized like toast, and learned the silence

That a mere whimper defines
quietly in the forest with a friend or two
whose lives have changed: not cigarettes and tangos;
but lies and bravado burned in a pile just outside of town.

The sigh meant for no one but You,
the shy words half-spoken, the questions not yet answered,
the focus that hears the beloved’s footsteps

On sunny leaves of the mosaic floor, where we wait
quietly in the forest with a friend or two
who need our tastes changed once more.