where dwells and moves the spiritual author of your being

it's not your daddy
it's not an old man 'up there'
or a finger that points at your shame
judging everything you do

but the felt Presence that holds you
in the wake of your betrayal
the Grace that pushes back the wall of your despair
the Other who beholds you in the eyes of a beggar





whom we call God is
the ooze of life
the marrow of the soul
the evergreening of love
the envelope of grace

except for love, var.

except for love

the wind despairs

hearts wither

stars forget to climb

and heaven departs unsung

except for love

oceans whimper

hope shatters

clouds are without witness

and spirits faint at hell's door

but on this day

Love's silver bell

shouts the light

shouts and shines and rings true forever

hanging from a nail

on a cross

and every stone lifts up the song

alleluia! alleluia!

easter alley

except for love
hearts clang
the wind despairs
stars forget to climb
and heaven's song is unsung

except for love
hope shatters
the earth flies apart
clouds are without witness
and spirits faint at hell's door

but on this day
love's silver bell
shines down the darkness
shines and rings true
hanging from a nail
on a cross

allelu
allelu
allelu

i look in monday's mirror

you look back at me with a stepford smile
with a mind borrowed from whatever you heard on the radio...

your thinking stinks of someone else's sweat
and your manufactured viewpoints mock your eyes

...your emperor wears new petticoats.
you have forgotten who you are.

come now again new...
look at me with your feral child eyes

with the sparkling clarity of true north
sing out from the only spirit you have

from one life to the next... your soul's own bright imprint
of the First Love That Made the First Morning of the World

six ways to sunday

solitude marked the hours,
a gentle procession
of ten thousand moments
of well ordered quiet

then heard my own voice
sob like a betrayed child
...to give up on wanting
that life, that kind of love...

...

what does the spirit gain
by knowing this despair?
i should learn merely to
endure by enduring?

...

you said these were holy
tears, and to mark the day
of coming to the holyself...
but what have i confessed?

self-abandonment?
so far it's only
an admission of
a hopelessness of desire.

i should take on
chastity if only
to assume the piety
of a masked emptiness

...

it is not enough to
play it well, to hear the
music but not to know
where all the songs come from

behind my eyelids
in my dark and many-colored closet
you come to me
from the ether of goodness
a warm thumbprint
on my forehead
all i desire is here
you flood my spirit
with words and warmth
until my heart is new
and quiet comes
and i am lifted
into the foreverness
of this day