Evenings

We sit awkwardly at the table
searching for things to talk about.
Somehow our bellies are less full.
Somehow our thirst less quenched.
Still we search for words.
We turn to each other
with small questions
and thinner answers.
This was delicious we say,
and I’m so full and
What’s for dessert?
but we are still empty
and dissatisfied.
We retreat to the living room.
The dishes are gathered
and put away.
The table is cleared
and wiped down.
We have our last drinks.
The evening slowly
winds down
as we take
our leave.

difference

today i am thinking about the difference
between testimony and witness
and that difference
may mean more to you
than it does to me
and that difference
may need to mean more
to me than it does to you
 
here is the proof: the story
as shared binds us both
to history, the language of loss
we circle each other
and it is not a dance
there is no joy here
the evidence keeps working
its way to the surface
 
there is only so much listening
we can endure

Shadow

Here is a shadow.
Be filled.
What follows?
The sun shines,
the moon shines,
the stars shine.
Open your mouth.
Drink in wonder.
 
What appears?
There are no words
up to the task
of naming.
So stop. Instead
rouse yourself
with silence.
 
Find yourself
straining
heavenwards.
Feet anchored,
lungs filled with sky.
Fix yourself there
with light.

*weik-

my heart is filled with sand
welcome to the world
of hidden things
i cannot speak
with any certainty
 
i am charged with
a lack of conviction
a list of offenses
of which i am guilty
in which i am conquered
 
someone once told me
it was all buried in a tomb
which is filled with bones
and your beautiful mouths
keep saying the right words
 
it is not enough; it is all vanity
a grasping after the wind
everything will be forever changed
woe to you, woe to you
woe to me

Just cause

I don’t I’ve ever been hated without cause. I’ve certainly done some things that deserve hatred. I’ve said hateful things to people close to me, and not. I regret that.
 
I don’t believe I’ve ever hated anyone. Not really. Perhaps I should make some lists. Write it all down. Set it alight. Maybe confession is good for the soul, but it’s a fearsome thing.
 
Sometimes forgiveness seems an impossible task.
 
I’m tired of having to explain. Or make excuses. I’m willing to listen to the words. Maybe I’m ready now.