They are in a room,
together. Their breathing, a rhythm of ages
rises and falls
in the small tempest of sleep.
One is a child, a girl.
Her breath, quick and light
falls as a petal of air
upon a small, rounded face
dreaming of the night's darkness
passing in grace of He
who answers prayers forever.
One is a woman breathing
taut and baited as one who is on the brink
of love's summation; passion
planted in the body,
now growing swollen and wanton
in the night's potted darkness, nurtured
on dreams of love lasting forever.
And she that is old, sleeps
still, body pulsing to the heart's sound
in the night's boding darkness
where dreams now
lie reverent to the mortal sound
that is not forever. Now
breath for breath's sake.
A Season of Mercy
A season of mercy
has been granted us,
this long time now -
history
by crucifixion
has always demanded patience.
House after house
has been built on the shore,
the same fishermen fishing seas
for the One man who spoke to them
from the water.
Some are tired of waiting;
some have lain down to die,
but still others persist
with dew in their eyes
so that even I must turn
this time now
to face Him at last
mercy's desire
granted.
Salt
Suddenly salt has lost its savour.
Love and all that it meant
is now a fragment of a bowl
no longer capable of holding water
but of only the caked white reflection -
a self, distorted and wan
weary with lines of knowing,
scarred with wounds that have truly savoured,
and known no other cleansing.
