Tin Daisies

 Tin Daisies

(“To find your life, you must lose your life—and whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.” Matthew 10:39)

Everything we need has already been found;
every stretching tree was once a seed in the ground.
Every friend, (you know your name)
has entered time to greet you again,
and all you thought you needed was another
new
face
when the souls of the beloved have
never changed.

That which cannot be tolerated has already
evaporated into healing rain.
That which cannot be comprehended has daily
communicated the artwork in and out
of the frame.
That which was unspoken has
filled our hearts at last.
That which was broken has
first been recast as tin daisies
welded by an artisan. Sand
and sparks,
the arc of the sky inspires darkness
to unveil everything the day had not
yet revealed.

And I hear your footsteps a dozen years removed,
and I hear your voice a thousand miles from here
singing the sweetest blues from
the pub where birthdays are marked,
where adulthood began.
And I stand and wonder that we have found

Anything at all.

And Will Watch Your Eyes

 
And Will Watch Your Eyes

(“Anxiety in a person’s heart weighs it down, but a good word makes it glad.” Proverbs 12:25)

There are eyes full of beauty but smudged with coal,
hearts so delightful and yet feel only halfway whole.
There are days filled with firelight and butterflies
but the mind shivers inside its frightening stories.
And there are those who would fix it all by
quoting a verse, a pithy proverb, an anecdote from their
own life aflight, who have never known the way the brain
can wake with fistfights beginning the most resurrection of
days.

I will sit with you when you feel there is no one to see,
I will find the silence, the presence, the coffee and the chair
reserved for the dearest friends who have practiced and perfected
never saying anything at all.

There are voices that move the soul like music,
but in their own head it is discordant, too sick
from the crush of air pressure and peer reviews
that they never sing unless caught by surprise.

I will listen with you, write your verses with you, hum with you,
I will find the middle notes that makes you shine, the tempo that
you find, the chord you created that, once played, coaxes the tears.
You did not need an audience,
you needed an accompanist.

Come, let us compose your story again.
Tell me the brightness, the jewel, the time you knew
the warm grass was meant for your toes alone.
Come, I will repeat it back to you line by line.
Tell you the peace I find in your unrhymed yarns
with more colors than I’ve ever seen.

And when you forget it, as I forget mine,
I will whisper just the first few words and watch
your eyes full of beauty again.