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Posts Tagged ‘sacred’

Temple

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on January 13, 2022| 11 Comments »




O body, cracked bell
that still sings when struck,
O leaky cup,
O broken stem,
I love you, body,
your crooked path,
your crumbling walls,
your faulty math.
I love the way
you stopped believing
you could ever
hold it all,
how you began
to let yourself
become the one
that’s being held.
I love the graffiti
on your inner halls—
scrawled names of all
who shaped you.
O body, my wreck,
my holey glove,
my street worn sole,
my crumpled page,
forgive me for years
of trying to fix you,
for believing the fable
of whole,
you, my perfect
splattered heart,
my stuttered hymn,
my sacred
begging bowl.

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Letter to Emily in October

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on October 13, 2019| Leave a Comment »

They say you left your house just once

in your last fifteen years—

you slipped alone through veil of night

to see a new-built church.

And rumor says the moon was full

when you escaped your walls—

you had no need for candlelight,

the evening led you well.

Tonight round shines the Hunter’s moon—

so dazzling is the dome

that all the world feels like a church

and night itself a poem.

Perhaps that’s what you understood

and lost your need to leave—

each room, each place is holy

and has a gift to give.

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Orvis Hot Springs, April 1

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on April 1, 2012| 7 Comments »

Sitting alone in warm water
with the sun doing what the sun does
when given a clear, clear sky,
everything seems possible.

Imagine, the earth heats this water
before it enters the rounded stone pool
and this seems miracle enough
to make me think that whatever is sacred

in this life might be very, very simple.
Simple as it is, I don’t understand
how it works—just as I do not understand
the heart with its longing to love.

Doesn’t it remember the hurt?
Doesn’t it remember the walls crashing down,
the rubble, the wreckage, the stench?
Doesn’t it remember the long, slow

blossoming of ache? How it unfurled
like the chokecherry tree in the yard—
tiny buds, tiny buds, tiny buds,
larger buds, then bloom! A riot of bloom!

I recently read about frogs, how
if they jump into a pot of boiling water
they immediately will jump out
and survive. But if they are put

in a pot of cold water and the fire
is lit and the temperature increase
is slow, then they will stay in the pot
even though it is getting uncomfortable,

even though it is more and more hot,
they will stay until they are boiled.
And dead. Does the heart learn from this?
Apparently not.

Here I am sitting alone
in warm, warm water, the sun
burning red the skin on my chest,
and all I can think is how good it feels

to be naked, to be warm, to be alive,
and to let the heart love, to love despite.
Oh foolish woman. Oh pleasure
in being a fool, how it burns.

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Eight Haiku

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on January 5, 2012| 2 Comments »

Dad, I'm So Glad You're Alive

evening news headline
Man Lucky To Be Alive
it is all of us

*

all this letting go,
said the hands, and nothing
to show for it

*

standing naked in
the downpour, the biggest part
of me does not get wet

*

I bet somewhere there’s
lively applause for all this
beauty we’re making

*

all those years holding
up a ceiling when it was
time to live outside

*

God said nothing
and I listened closer and
really heard nothing

*

your body,
there is not one hair that
isn’t holy

*

I keep no secrets,
the wind said, so no one can
ever blackmail me

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