Show me your face

Fateful day, long awaited 

With dreams fortelling 

Regrets mounting; 

Unattended death

Abandoned life

Unattuned presence

Neglected nurture

Fatigued compassion

Unchained melody 

Crooked comedy 

Unhinged guilt

Aching disharmony 

Fumbling with grief

Is this a tragedy or this a relief?

I will make it to the end if I can just see your face. 

Anvil

Forging strength 

Struck against the hard 

Hope’s weapon 

 *haiku from The NY Times Wordle 

Intimacy

Communion and oneness

Softness and toughness

Touch and timing

Intimacy is being with

Within, knowing

Is closeness and seeing, into

Seeking understanding

Naked and safely seen

Vulnerably exposed, 

Receiving and accepting, all.

Giving for the good of the other, 

The higher and further 

The now and not yet, 

The forever. 

Threshing the hold

As I depart,

Even as I enter,

The expanse expanding

The excitement and fear combining

This host of emotions, 

grieving and welcoming

Threshold crossings

Moments of holding on, 

of always being held.

Ebbing glow

From my bedroom I hear birds chirping, waking up. Sunrise in 34 minutes. 

I write, picturing the dusty blue of pre dawn veiling the crispness of night, picturing groping in the dusk to the raspberry patch, collecting first fruits of July, in tears of remembering my bodily longing for this moment of tactile revelation from afar; the gentle tug of the plump berry in to my hand, marveling at the oblong perfection, the splash of color on my mouth.

The sweetness of fulfilled longings tinged with the holy grief that seasons end. That closeness will ebb due to the limitations of time zones and presence and capacity, the slow dance of holding and releasing. 

Patient habits

We are going to live with aching exuberance
We are going to exult in our famished spirits
We are going to wonder and awe until we get new names
We are going to rest and release
We are going to protect and punish
We are going backward so we can go forward
We are battling and lovemaking, stopping and sprinting
The heat is rising; I contemplate contempt but I relapse into forgiveness instead; it’s a habit 

Ringed

 I always thought I would look down at my ringed finger, relieved and secure in my knowledge of being chosen 

Instead I find comfort in his ringed finger, Moved by his sign of commitment, more than my own token.

And finding that even this monumental human commitment feels small and fragile, certain as we can be in our unknowingness;

And that the creator’s steadfast covenant is the truer foundation, where I built my life in years of waiting, a true home never to depart from.