One looks to you and waits. You make decisions that invoke us and we wait.
Thought invents the image and then says it didn't. Who is lifted by her loveliness reminds her how she heals.
I walk in the forest. I call it a desert.
There is no you. Though you travel to me often - and reveal each fold - and press me always closer to the ringing of your heart.
Summer heat rises. Am I finally out of words?
For the crows pass chattering, and the hawk sails high overhead, in an ever-widening circle. And somewhere a hammer sings against the nail.
Church bells melt me. Wanting melts me.
Jesus passes her a note for me in gym class. The mail forever disappoints!
And yet we do profess our love and endlessly pray for the blur of reciprocity. Who gives, blesses us, and is in turn blessed.
Do you see then how one sentence readies another? How happy I am in my New England life, wordy and unadorned, two of my feet on the ground.