I.
These Books of Hours between us
Bound with uneven pages of longings
Steps forward and steps away from the Center
where the pages – Lie --
Open.
In between the first ruffling of the Soil and the
Final Harvest
There are Instruments –
from those we treat with lemon and Honey
when sore
To those that must sit –
on our laps held
much like partners in a formal dance.
II.
You call them “dodgy days”
the ones where you find yourself
Doubting my existence.
I call them “those moments,”
those moments-
You know them,
It means I am unsure about what I’m doing with my life,
where I’m at,
who my friends are,
where I’m going,
unanswerables,
how to work out a continual, effectual relationship with God.
etc
etc
etc
etc
I call them “those moments,”
those moments—
you know them,
the ones where your mind breaks
where you lose It for a moments time.
What happens when those moments continue to collect
“- tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'”
As so I implore, there is but one world, I implore!’”
I think that's okay every now and then. I'm careless, for the moment,
which I guess is okay
as I like to cycle everywhere anyway
Dizzy, paralyzed in thought, impotent against the gravity
I have walked through this forest,
(never doubting that we are still)
those moments -- have collected and passed
the past -- always with you.
“Time” but an invention of something to be gone through
as if could be completed and thrown off as championed)
I Am
You know those moments,
You call them “dodgy days”
the ones where you find yourself
Doubting my existence.
I call them “those moments,”
those moments-
You know them,
the ones where you…
Okay
I think we will be okay
We are on your way to God knows where.
Learning to live
L i f e -- L o v e
