Red Ink on Blue Paper

Red Ink on Blue Paper

It was fate, I have no doubt about it.
There’s not a damn thing I can do,
I’ll never stop loving you.
I could tell you, every day and more,
the well is bottomless, the supply eternal of
the elixir that intoxicates me.

I wondered how many times I will drink of it,
will my thirst ever be assuaged? Or
will this liquid that has transfixed me
keep my feet walking to you. I’ve stammered,
perhaps because there is a place I want to dwell with
room enough only for two.

I’ve seen the surface of you, and I’ve sounded the depths.
And I keep exploring, new, yet, and next. I know I have
layers
I’m still afraid to lay bare. I have words to say, and then
I run away, leaving only vowels behind.
I could write a note, red ink on blue paper,
and leave it where you would find it. And leave it
behind for you to read after
I’ve long since departed.

I’ve held back in too many conversations. I’ve
not asked the questions, I’ve not made the declarations.
But one day, perhaps late before the sun goes down,
I might take your hand,
kneel on the grass,
ask the question you asked me a lifetime ago
(and tremble, not knowing what to say).

Other lives, next life,
and still it is this life.

The same way you adore the sun,
the same way it warms your skin,
is the same way I adore you,
the same way you warm me again.

Living is so lovely now, even if it’s dreams and
imagination. But the pain leaves at
the very thought of you.

Grain-Sized

 

Grain-Sized

(“Let us know, let us press on to know the Lord his appearing is as sure as the dawn; he will come to us like the showers, like the spring rains that water the earth.” Hosea 6:3)

Have you watched the rain fill the potholes and
the next day the sparrows are bathing?
Have you seen the way old eyes fade
when the lengths are measured so precisely?
Have you missed the sun on a befogged morning
and refused to walk out into the gray?
Have you ever,
even if you don’t remember,
walked barefoot all summer until you
did not need shoes at all?

Have you smelled the lavender and remembered
your grandmother or the florist who loved the dirt?
Have you tasted a strawberry and remembered
the kiss of an early love?
Have you been to the beach, watched sand crabs
swim in your castle’s moat?
Have you watched the orange sunset turn to
red tide under a renewing moon?
Have you seen the ways young eyes fade
when campfires sing until dawn?

Have you felt the verdant forest coating your skin,
the boundless sky caressing your shoulders,
the breezes sigh like a joke gone wrong
that everyone laughs at because wit has become
joy which needs no permission to grin?

Have you hiked a hill until your back was fire,
but would not retreat until you stood higher than the
aspens below you? The alpine lakes show you more
from above the timber line.

And some days do you sit and do
nothing at all
while you think the world is livelier
outside your room?

Have you every wondered how someone so
grain-sized
can imagine universes within and without you
or that the divine infuses
it all like rain, like flame, like
the very next dawn.