Into the Afternoon

Into the Afternoon

(“Ezra opened the book in the sight of all the people.” Nehemiah 8:5a)

If you listen between the words,
if you prophesy with sunset orations,
if you sing like you used to when we were young,
if you decorate the air with perfume sprung from honey and clover,

I will sit through the afternoon to watch
peace descend upon the watching and waiting.
I will share the light with you, the sun of 1000
days in June.
The smoke from the campgrounds below us
is almost floral, opening our senses to songs we
once knew by heart.
I gave away one of my guitars I used
to sing at campfires and living rooms. I hope it
is still played with joy.

The gentle sunlight has radicalized me,
the voices of justice are part of my vocabulary.
I’d be more brazen, less cautious,
emblazoned with fire in my heart;
and, less flawless than ever, I might sing
out of tune and

That is why

I invite you to sing with me into the afternoon.

Raining Down in Pieces

Raining Down in Pieces

(“You have heard the desire of oppressed people, O Lord. You encourage them. You pay close attention to them.” Psalm 10:17)

I’m raining down in pieces,
pellets that hit the sizzling ground and
are gone before anyone notices.
Today was tiny and massive,
today was storm clouds and placid
hopes
that someone, (you know who you are)
would walk through my door, see the empty eyes
I hide from everyone,
and fill them with the kind of quiet that
embraces everything.

Perhaps we could busk down by the river,
next to the brewery,
late in the afternoon. But I would stall,
I am out of practice, and nothing comes easy
at all.

I’m opening the puzzle,
pieces that used to fit but now, edges worn,
are more or less fragments. The picture on the box
was colored over decades ago by children with nothing
else to do.
I never minded. Children were always the ones
who taught me the tunes I almost had forgotten.

I slide the pieces back into the box and a dozen fall
on the floor below the table. I’m tempted to leave them
there.

Perhaps we could play chess at the coffee shop;
I haven’t played in ages. I fear I would have to concede before
we were halfway done. We could leave the board set up,
I guess,
but I don’t know when you’ll be back and when I’ll wander
downtown again.

I’d venture out, meet someone new, but, like I said,
I’m raining down in pieces,
and can only be seen these days by someone who
sees me these days the
way I am.

Utter Nonsense

Utter Nonsense

(“The Jewish leaders still refused to believe the man had been blind and could now see, so they called in his parents.” John 9:18)

Believe me, every day I search for the opening,
the escape from mangled dreaming into the open sun,
the disinfected fabric of a t-shirt on the line.

I ache in the morning, pain and reaching,
I am muddled until noon, (is there a letter in the mail?)
I limp into the afternoon and evening cannot come too soon.

I hope there is a knock at the door, a friend, a smile, or
more honestly,
a payment for the time I’ve spent, failing more than trying,
looking into lost eyes and seeing the life inside.

Trust me, every night I sleep and hope
the dreams will be ladders of heaven
instead of escalators into the past.
My filing system is busted, my friends who I trusted
appear bringing letters of approval, and sometimes
alphabets of fear. I can no longer find the notes for
public readings, music for psalms and singing.
I’m late for every meeting and it shows when I bring
suggestions no one understands. Do I speak in tongues?
Have I lost my mind? Is my age that telling? Did I leave
my thesaurus behind?

Who knew that a vacuum could be so dense;
empty be so full of such utter nonsense?

So, I gaze into the blank, the blackness, staring at the door,
wondering if anyone visits the lonesome anymore. Here’s
my
unspoken blindness. Now shine on my day like
kids walking home after school.