Saturday, December 17, 2011

i'm working out the terms of a hundred little daily deceits
looking at all the beautiful faces i love
and yet betray in only a few seconds,
all in the time it takes to say
''of course not''
or "don't be silly"
little denials in the space of simple conversations
which are, in reality, full-time moral undertakings
requiring the ten-thousand angels tap dancing on the dark side
to pull it off.

of such is the fragile edge of my existence
where  i walk close to walls like a nun
where i wake in the night
alarmed by my own breath
where i accept failure
and wait for the consequences
of becoming more like myself
of admitting the lies
not unlike peter,
but without the halo.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

woman at the well

all they think about
is the sin of the doing
of hair coming undone
the exotic misery of
life borrowed

there are worse things
could've missed it altogether
not found the dearness of it
deep to the marrow
in a softly shared song
not a life for the faint
not a life seemly chosen

yet even along the small path
of one small spark
is divine purpose
a radiance of angels
the impossibility of love's goodness
unconditionally settled for and joyfully
made do