Poetry - 2019

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If once an image of God,

A fallen angel now.

In these hands that hold

only flesh

My dreams just broken vows.

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I break apart,

to make whole again

and wake up to you Aurora.

I’m the brush of sun your shoulder

rising next to you.

February

I stay in this fog long enough to make an art of it

But I’d rather be shown mercy

The way the eye of the storm can open

And swallow both our homes

So we wonder where we’ve been living

And I find I’ve created you

The way the Grecians smoothed marble

But marble breaks,

as this day does

When a new sky arrives.

So I hope to trace your face

With impressions more like

Fingers in the sand

With details to the grain

That we know naturally,

we cannot replicate

While we still try to find beauty

in things we have named to hold

What two humans can infer

Was the meaning

For all of this suffering

And anxiously and passively

I wonder if

God’s workings beam over me

To tell a tale of triumph

before I could even grow bitter.

But the Way never does reveal itself

The way you and I do