Insert Your Name

Insert Your Name

(“Since you have been raised to new life with Christ, set your sights on the realities of heaven, where Christ sits in the place of honor at God’s right hand.” Colossians 3:1)

I no longer go hunting (daylight or dark) for instant remedies,
medicinal teas, flights of fancy or transactions of applause.
My hope is no longer in live oaks that decay, or additional deciduous
fallen and blocking the way. They will eventually crumble away.

I haven’t altered my consciousness in who knows how long,
though I have collected my thoughts and attempted to keep them
dry on the days I cry over one more phone call cut short,
email unanswered, leaving lasting words (the very last words)
ricocheting off the walls leaving indelible patterns and
interior redecoration.

I would tell him, I’m sure, love is secure, the ear arcane.
I would hug her, I would, if she found me with her eyes again.

I have fewer days around friends’ tables,
less hours at coffee and patter,
pain has robbed my easy informality
and turned a dollar of time into mere pennies.

Please believe, and insert your name within the margins of this writing.
What I have missed I would giftwrap and pass on to you.
From my storehouse of hiking trails and lunches at
Denny’s with a high school buddy, I would share every
hour with you that made each breath a treasure. I would
grab your hand (you feel the warm grasp already) and
interlock it with the friendship you think has crumbled
across the trail. You started the walk in the summer morning,
sun on your back, abreast on the hike, and always got home later
than you ever intended.

Let me grab your hand (you can feel the freedom already) and
place it so you face friend and the day, eye to eye, tear to tear,
and let the aroma of heaven erase the last words you spoke and
begin a brand new conversation.

I hunt no longer, dreams are less frequent,
but longings are deeper for the glimpse my soul has seen.