Easy to Find
I have often looked inside my drawers
without knowing why.
Something called out.
Seek me and you shall find,
but when I obey I'm confounded by memory's fleeting ways.
Hands immerse and return awkwardly empty
like a runaway child
when no one came after them.
I know there is something I seek
that hides from me so I can't think about what I lack.
It is, however, and this is the point, too damn powerful
to be silent and still.
Besides, I know I lack it because I miss it.
I miss it.
Whatever "it" is.
Whatever I need it to be it is not that.
It can never be anything but what it is.
And so I search in drawers and closets absent of why,
driven like a machine whose switch has been thrown
just because it can.
I miss it.
I wish it could find me.
Maybe I need to stay put long enough for it to do so.
Now there's a switch.
Let the powerful "it" seek me out.
But for how long must I wait?
And how will I recognize it should it find me?
There must be names for this condition that end in phobia.
Damn, I hate that suffix.
It all starts with a sense of wonder and ends in a sense of emptiness.
God, I wish you could find me here.
I'll tuck myself in a little drawer right out in the open.
I won't bury myself under incidentals.
I'll be right on top.
Easy to find.
Do you need me for anything?
I hope so because I need you for everything.
Of Beckoning Places
Of beckoning places
I have never felt more lost.
Nothing invites me onward.
Nothing compels my mouth to speak.
In cave-like ignorance, resembling oblivion,
I am soulless in sleep.
Where are you, beloved?
Do you not think I wait for you?
Do you not understand the crystal heart?
Its facets like mirrors for the clouds
absent of nothing blue.
Invincible heaven with downcast eyes
and burning bullets of victory that peel through flesh
like a hungry ax, why did you follow me?
I need an equal not a slayer.
I need a companion not a ruler.
I need love not commandments.
Of things forgotten
I have never been one.
God seems to find me even in the tumbleweed
when winds howl
and I become the wishbone in the hands
of good and evil.
Why do they seek me out?
What purpose do I serve if I cannot become visible to you?
You know, when they put animals to sleep
children wait outside
as the needle settles the debt of pain and age.
The mother or father write a check and
sign their name twice that day.
They drop a watermark of tears.
They smile for their children
through clenched hearts beating
sideways like a pendulum of time.
And I see all of this and more in myself.
A small animal whose debts are soon to be settled.
Children are already appearing outside
waiting for the smile of parents to reassure.
The signature and watermark
they never see.
Of winter sanctuary I have found only you.
Though I wait for signals to draw me from the cold
into your fire
I know they will come even though I fumble for my key.
Even though my heart is beheaded.
Even though I have only learned division.
I remember you and the light above your door.
