When My Soul Aches No More

 

When My Soul Aches No More

(“The mouth of the righteous is a fountain of life, but the mouth of the wicked conceals violence.” Proverbs 10:11)

My plan was to sit beside you underneath the
umbrella to take in the salty fog and firewood air.
Trouble is, my chest is full of arrows and
my heart is caked with mud.
These days frighten me; our manufactured heroes
turn too easily on their own.
I meant to look up your number, call you on the phone,
but I thought better of it. The voices in my head keep
explaining
the pain of every conversation I hoped would loop us
back to easy friends. Instead

I walk in the rain and talk to strangers,
cover my wounds,
bleed beneath the skin that covers
a soul that aches more than my bones.
I wait
for an apology at least as loud
as the disrespect. I believe I will be waiting
for a while.

Your certainty met my mystery head on.
I’m sorry I cannot cut and dry
my mind so precisely.

Another day fades while your face sits
well within the gaze
of my preoccupied last act on this
theater-in-the-round.

Here is what I want to remind you,
I have always loved you and imperfectly,
like bitter pecans or a faded rose, like wet ashes
in the fireplace or an unruly dog. And
I would
enjoy another burger or cabernet
before the final day when my soul
aches no more.

Final, First

 

Final, First

 

(“Jesus said to him, ‘I am the Way and the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father, except through me.’” John 14:6)

 

On the face of it some of creation is unrecognizable,
incognito, and hidden. On the face of it we rarely know
without closer inspection what is concealed behind the rind.

 

“One orange and you’ve seen them all,” is all wrong.
One day flips to another like a king to a deuce in a
deck of cards.
“One faith looks like all others.” is likely untrue.
One prayer turns on a wheel and another has lit candles.

 

One word learned is a new boundary to explore,
one lost friend is knocking at the door,
two ragged dogs wet from the cold
and three trees bearing fruit one hundredfold. 

 

Family seeks its own level,
the Father sent his own,
family loves the gentle and rebels,
the Father sent his Son.

 

I see you, Father, in the feet of your Son,
browned by the glare and scraped by the sand.
I see you, Father, in the hands of your Son,
calloused and strong, careful where the lonely people planned
to see a warrior, a king, an emperor, a lord. I see you, Father,
in every tear of your Son, weeping like waterfalls,
grateful like showers on a rose, seeking the dug-in
and the soaring
before morning gives way to dusk.

 

The mountains are refuge, the thunder your love,
the lightning your whisper, the sun the remnant of
primal light that fills you, fills all, fills shadows and
corners,
wedding and mourners awaiting the day
when all is in all; the Son, the Father, the Spirit
in heavenly dance
unite all creation in higher, deeper,
final, first, and eternal
song.