I slipped my ear
into your pocket
close to your heart.
It wanted to be near
the steady thump
of those chambers,
a rhythm more reassuring
than any lullaby.
My ear likes it there
against your chest,
likes the warm hum
of your voice floating
over it, your words
indistinct through the cloth.
Forgive this eavesdropping
on the pulse of you,
but it is the only news
that interests my ear today
while the rest of me
works far away.
Yes, the only thing
my ear wants to hear
is the red song of you
like a faithful drum beating
here, here, here.
Posts Tagged ‘communion’
Hearing Aid
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged body, communion, ear, hearing, heart, love on March 15, 2021| 4 Comments »
We Are All God’s Poems
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ars poetica, communion, god on March 7, 2021| 2 Comments »
I want to read the poem of you—
want to hold in my breath
your intimate rhythms
want to translate in my lungs
the silences between your stanzas,
want to feel in my heart
the sharp tug of your turns,
the communion of your inner rhymes.
I want to follow
the ever-emerging form of you,
want to know which words
are appearing even now
in the divine cursive
that writes us all,
want to wander in your ambiguities,
wonder about your secrets,
marvel at your beauty,
be wrestled by your oppositions.
I want to recite your lines
again and again and again
so your stories
are the allusions that inspire
the emerging poem of me.
This is the poem in which I admit
every poem has the potential
to break open the heart—
imagine the size of the book.
This is the poem in which I remember
the heart was made to break open.
Star of Wonder
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged astronomy, communion, connection, planet, star, unity on December 23, 2020| 3 Comments »
I don’t want us to be
like Jupiter and Saturn,
slowly moving toward each other
only to find ourselves
slowly moving further away.
When we conjoin,
let it be that we find
our paths not crossing
but merging, moving
us forever in the same direction,
our light uniting so brightly
others might imagine
it signifies a miracle—
and they will, of course,
be right.
Winter Evening
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, friendship, grace, laughter, memory on November 21, 2020| 4 Comments »
Though I sit alone
on my couch at home,
I’m somehow also sitting
with Rachel and Julie
and it’s summer and
we’re laughing, laughing
until we tumble
into each other’s laps,
laughing as we collapse
into a puppy pile of giggles,
laughing because it feels
so good to laugh—
even now I laugh aloud
with no memory of why
we were laughing then,
but many years later,
it’s still contagious.
Sometimes we tumble
so wholly into the grace
of a moment
that it opens in us forever,
continuously blooms
and spreads its perfume
like night-blooming jasmine,
christens everything
with its fragrance,
even this empty room,
even this tired woman
now so surprisingly awake.
Join Me?
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, love, sky, tea on October 16, 2020| Leave a Comment »
Less
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, nakedness, self on February 25, 2020| 6 Comments »
Today I can see how I wear it
like a velvet dress, the dream
of wanting to be somebody.
It’s so easy to forget I am wearing it.
Because it is lovely. Because
it feels good. But life
hands me a hanger and asks me
to take off the dress
and move naked today
through my inner rooms.
It’s not as if anyone else can see,
but I notice, as I must,
how much easier it is now to know
the self as sunrise, as apple seed,
as cinnamon, as you.
One Unbaptized
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, baptism, communion, poem, poetry, pond on October 19, 2019| Leave a Comment »
filled with golden leaves,
the pond, and shimmering with sky
and me, too dry, too dry
One Communion
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, darkness, poem, poetry on July 13, 2019| Leave a Comment »
Translation
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communication, communion, gratitude, poem, poetry, translation on May 19, 2019| 3 Comments »
Once I would say “table,” and mean
“table.” Once, I would say
“broccoli” and mean “broccoli.”
I would say “stone” and mean
“stone.” I really did believe
that things were separate.
And nameable. Now,
every word that comes
out of my mouth, no matter
how many syllables, no matter
the tone of voice, no matter
my intention, I’ve come to understand
that every word
is really just a translation
for thank you,
thank you for this moment.
And every silence between the words,
regardless how brief,
is really just the sound
of one hand in gratitude clapping.
Aspirations
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, dissolution of the separate self, love, poem, poetry on February 24, 2019| 7 Comments »
I wanted my love to avalanche,
and love said to me, be flake of snow,
I wanted my love to be tsunami,
and love said, be water in my glass.
Be crumb of bread, be scrap of cloth,
be ray instead of sun.
I wanted to be enormous.
Love said to me, be one.