Barely Touching Beauty

Barely Touching Beauty

(“We are ruled by Christ's love for us.” 2 Corinthians 5:14a)

The neighborhood dogs come out to play
on days this bright in February light. The ones in pens
bark their intention of joining in.
Sweatshirts give way to t-shirts stored since September,
the clouds are thin, the sky is reachable,
the breeze has taken the day off, holding its breath
until the next storm finds its way upriver, the front
moving the water ahead,
the back pushing the sea lions along.

A mom and her daughter stop midday
to make lunch for the elderly man who once
was sharp and clever. His wit and good nature
have withered with his health.
Why do we hang this skin on bones,
why do we age so fatly and fade so thin?
Machines push air through tubes into our nostrils,
the noise they make sounds like lungs hung outside the body.
Where are the people who pledged their money to
keep the church afloat when he was their shepherd.
Where are the pledges, where are the alleged gospel
followers
who cannot wait to see the world converted? Did he
assert mercy too deeply? Did he sink the shaft of
grace divine
into the muck of everyday lives? And EMTs
now tend to the one who tended souls in love.

A friend sits by the bed,
his head full of all the stories they have shared.
Both knew the wonder of barely touching beauty
as they lifted children in their arms,
seeing the blue eyes of one, green and brown of others,
who broke the water from death to life.
Both knew the spears that struck their hearts might
take a lifetime to heal.

While the bald eagles fly, we on the ground are
left to rely on each other.
Even canned chili in the hands of a friend
can end the grieving for a season.