A Trio of Deer

A Trio of Deer

(“I will also destroy the false gods and put an end to the objects of worship…” Ezekiel 30:13)

When did the roots dry up;
why were the lifeless crosses lifted like
national flags to salute?
There is nothing impossible, there is nothing there,
there is everything we hoped for, there is more than
thin air.
Where did the beautiful deeds go;
who snuffed out the lamps of a hundred hearts?
There are silences greater than the rants
just before noon
on Sundays. There are still dreams to
plant in the soil. There are still sundowns to watch
together while a trio of deer eye us curiously.

I walk the same route every day. I have now for
three years or more. I stopped by your house on my way,
I stopped and knocked less often than I should.
It is nearly a year since you have gone,
nearly a year since I sat with you in the silent hospital room.
But today, I swear it is true,
a trio of deer stood in your yard. A trio of deer that would
have caught your eye like
the cargo ships in the river you could see from your front window.

We both hated the idols, didn’t we?
We both stumbled more than most.
But we knew the difference, didn’t we,
between solid ground and dust.
We both loved too many, didn’t we?
We both felt unloved and wrongly.
But we knew the difference, didn't we,
between spinning tops and curiosity.

When did Jesus become the way we
crucify beauty? When did thoughtful contemplation
become a chargeable offense?

All I know, a trio of deer were in your yard today.
And one doe walked toward me, and I knew that made
you smile.

It’s a Dry Heat

It’s a Dry Heat

I’ve been waiting all day for your call.
I messaged you hours ago. It must be your birthday
by now.
Maybe you are celebrating, maybe I’ve lost my mind.
No one owes me anything, I never had that much to give.
My mistakes are my everything, disappointment is the
mine shaft most of my friends never escape.
So I’ll wait for a new one.

Did you hear the waves crash today; did you hear
the cymbals clang like time screeched to a standstill?
Did you hear every thought in my mind? Is that why
the doors are locked again? Is that why I’ve lost
so many words. I thought I could be
unedited
with you.

It's a dry heat, so I’ll be ok. I’m fine. I’ll take
the afternoon to unpack my luggage and drink
too much wine. I’d

Meet you for coffee, but the shop closed an hour ago.
I’d tell you everything, but I’ve tried that. No one is
left

To capture my unsettled monologues and
erase them so they do not haunt me
again. I’d teach you to dance

On the lawn across from the old
locomotive in the park. Or

Walk my dog until we finally get
lost in the dark.

When the Reservoirs Run Dry

 When the Reservoirs Run Dry

(“You let our enemies trample us; we went through fire and flood, but now you have brought us to a place of safety.” Psalm 66:12)

What to do when the reservoirs run dry?
What to see when the sky has pulled away like
a yoyo on a string?
What to say when pressed for faith?
What to sing when the melodies fade?

We shall wait.
And we shall set our tables with bread
in our narrow alley.
And we shall shower rain on the scrub brush
and the listless.
And we shall not be asleep in our though the
heat lulls us.
And we shall listen to the rhythm of seeds and
seedlings.

What to do when fear is a language
adopted by masqueraded sheep?
What to feel when cattle are thin and
blame is the only offer?
What to see when seeing has been discarded
for shades of lies? Why walk the streets of
gaslighting or original sin?

I will begin again. I will sing this verse instrumentally.
I will wail. I will whisper. I will let the shorter days pass
like chaff. I will sit with you, if you ask,
as long as all I am.

Our bread will be for both and our wine
shall be for laugh or crying. When the reservoirs
run dry
we will fill our cisterns with the rains from beyond the
sky.