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.

Streaks Across

Streaks Across

(“Then turning towards the woman (Jesus) said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair.” Luke 7:44)

What have you heard, from friend or electrons sent
along the insulated wires that ride the same rhythm
as rails across the open plains?

What have you observed, from informed or insinuations
pinging off one closed mind to the other?

Where do we ignore, and what do we redeem;
what brings daylight or smiles, delights or miles
of memory that can wind from the windy peaks above
the bay upriver before morning opens for the day.

Who do we notice; the eyes that have seen more
sadness than the oceans rushing in the backdoor porch?

What can we watch; the wave of hair uncut catching
sun like rain, as it cascades across the cheeks of
the hopeful, streaks across the feet of the forgiver
that turns tears to joyful.

What can we say; the judgments that began that day,
or the tolerance that breathes the perfume of love given

By one who, unloved, had more to give, unbidden,
than all the basins filled with the scent of water
that has remained unmoved for far too long.

May the perfume spiral around our conspiracy theories,
soak and cleanse our acrid memories,
remind of us the exact moment we perceived

The fragrance which forgiveness filled each and every
sense.