Missing the Mark

Sitting on Gram's old floor,
The light brown seas of carpet
Where I ventured far and wide;
It is someone's birthday.
Your shoes, worn out, as they always are,
For your love is of something far greater,
Something worth more than all the shoes...
All the choices...
All the money in the world.
And that something is a someone.
It is a "me,"
Your me,
Our me.
The one you lovingly reach out to catch,
When I parade forward as a bear,
Roaring in my own squeaky little voice,
With probably but a year's practice.
And on your face is that love,
The one I for so long pretended
Did not exist, or was hidden by difference;
The love that can only be from one pair of eyes.
You are my father, my dad,
And I am far simpler than I have thought.

Iuveni Fesso

Why do you run from me?
I am always here, always in the same place,
Eager to be re-discovered anew.
Why do you seek me where you know I am not?
Where there are false hopes, lustful beauty, demons...
Do you simply not trust that I am enough,
That I am so far away?
Yet I am so near, so intimately weaved into this world,
Into your brothers and sisters, into myself.
I, Verbum Dei, created and was spoken into all things.
Come find me, my brother, that we may share dinner,
Share my sustenance, our sustenance, our life,
Our freedom, our hope, our rest.
I know you are tired, weary and laden,
But come, learn to rest in me,
That someday you might become more you.

Sometimes (circa Christmas-time of another year)

Sometimes you come back to life,

Sometimes you are a memory on fast-forward,

Sometimes you cry, sometimes you laugh,

Sometimes you stay a little while longer.

Sometimes a picture is all it takes.

Sometimes I find you in unexpected places—

Bureaus, songs, and books.

Sometimes it is just a piece of paper,

Sometimes your smile curving deviously

Around the bends and stretches of my mind,

Sometimes this takes more from me

Than I was ever willing to give,

Though what I gave was the last of what I had.

I have been afraid since then,

I have not shared, I have not opened.

Four years ago, around this time

We sat around Ray, and I hoped.

I prayed and was answered:

The new year sprung into bloom.

And sometimes it still seems so wrong.

I ended much, but ruined more.

Now you are but a ghost,

Drifting about, dancing every now and then,

Into my heart, into my soul,

On the steps of great halls,

In the dawn of your glory.

Sometimes I miss your calm,

The way you understood even though you did not,

The reassuring glance only possessed by one who loves,

Unsure, but willing to give deeper,

To explore in the face of fear,

And yet know not fear.

For fear has no place in love.

Then what am I, my dear?

I am lost, as we speak,

and yet, I know I am somewhere new.

This is not easier,

Indeed it makes our life seem to have been

More at ease.

Something about the simplicity,

Something about the fervor,

Something about the vivacious drive for life,

I have not been captured since.

Hehehe, but I am free.

For I have actually been caught by another,

Who cast forth nets to bring me ashore,

To a distant shore,

And there, my no longer, shall I remain.

A Photograph

Step back from the wheel and out the door

Bags and straps a mangled mess, nearly tripping--

For I am but a casual klutz.

Buttons mashed, the reassuring tone of a secure possession;

How oddly deceptive this stability.

Walk about, gently careening towards a palace

From former days, from former glory

Where security was all too secure

And trust was merely status.

Take off my cap, the shutter speeds,

My fingers shudder, the cold gnawing my already coarse hands,

And I am there:

This moment, this frame, these sandstone bricks

Layered meticulously in such magisterial manner,

The graying sky, lined with white lines

Curling, swirling, refusing to sit still

Even for the briefest second, that I might steal this glance

Out from eternity's grasp, and make it my own

With no context, no caption, no commentary;

One still frame from which sings all

Of which human hands and the ever-Divine

Are capable of so finely crafting.

I draw back from a drawing not my own,

To see my limited sight of all expanse,

So far beyond my means and grasp,

So far beyond a palace built upon a hill,

Painted on a pained sky.

I am such a small creature.

Birdsong

Sing softly to me, 
sweet bird,
The cheerful hymns 
of a rain-soaked morn,
Gray and dull, 
but lulling with your song.
You wake me, 
yet why should I be bitter?
You are being just 
what you were made to be,
And for that you give great glory,
And I, great praise.

The Banquet of Possibility

At once my heart's a flutter,

When I pass into realms unknown,

To roads of unending endpoints,

To safety far from home.

The curiosity thrills me

And begs me go before

To the banquet of Possibility

Come knocking at my door.

     “Ah, dear friend, it's been some time

     since you've last let me in.

     May I be seated?” he thus proceeded,

     And sat down with a grin.

     “You've locked your doors and bolted them

     On what you did not know.

     You settled down to be but unsettled

     And ceased thus to grow.

     Come follow now to things unseen,

     And see what there's to see.

     You're boundless heart is again to be bound

     By old Possibility.”

And now, O seeker, let me say,

To the feast what had been brought:

Possibility's only food

Is nothing more than thought.

A Prayer for Peace

Go, my friend, and enter in,
Deep into the darkness of a dimming world,
Send forth reeling 
Those of which you have been accused,
And rend the hearts of many.

Go, my friend, and enter in,
Further into your Christ and out of this pain,
For much does the world weigh 
When your heart is amiss,
And far do your thoughts wander.

Go, my friend, and enter in,
To see the lost, to be the lost,
To be just quite simply lost--
From yourself, your world--
And let yourself be found.

Go, my friend, and enter in,
Touch the hearts of the broken-hearted, 
Be wounded by others' wounds,
Gather unto Him those for the great banquet,
And learn to step aside.

Go, my friend, and enter in,
Deep into the darkness of a dimming world,
Burn bright the flames of love, 
The lamp of life that you are,
And be at peace 'til morning's rise.

Questions

Your gaze, your words, your life
have touched upon beauty
and my being,
Disturbed by this surprising presence
of which before I had not known.
Am I here for this?
Is this why life has brought me thus?
That I may leave it behind
simply to be,
to be I, and I with your gaze,
your words,
your life?
I have so many questions.

An Old Friend and a Way of Life

Credo, sed non video

Cogito, non intelligo

Desidero, non habeo

Attingo, cado

Tamen in omnibus

Semper quaerens

Spero.

I believe, but I do not see.

I think, but I do not understand.

I desire, but I do not possess.

I reach, but I fall.

Nevertheless, in all things,

Always seeking,

I hope.