Things will never
truly be greener
on the other side--
there's just
different grass.

Tend to your own garden
and pay your friend's
a visit,
for company is what
makes things
flourish.

Feeling the impact
of hard things
doesn't make me
a failure.

I
am not
the Savior.

I am a beggar
showing other beggars
where to find bread.

It's their choice to eat.

If I am
a woman of abundance
speaking fluent excess
in a time where
nothing
is denied
what do I become
when the borders
are closed
to the land
I promised myself?

Pigeonholed into
this sense of security
seeing myself
through one-half
of the monocle
--wasted tension,
then, if twice-effort
produces half-sight--
Where do I go
to find myself
when the only door
I knew
is shrouded
in second-hand screens?

I will rise-
for comfort has made
apaths of us all

I will rise-
realizing these bones
ache under the weight
of collected burdens

I will rise-
vision adjusting
as perspective changes
from lower life
to heavenward glances
too dry
too bright
too foreign to the naked eye

And yet
this simplistic wealth
contradicts itself
in losing, we hope
to gain
in leaving, we hope
to find

So I will rise-
embracing the new abundance
of having nothing
except All.

When I hear you
talk about
"forever,"
it makes me
wonder
if the big, wide world
could ever compare
to this tiny room
or me and you.

You
make me want
to be
infinite

--even if infinity
looks like Tuesday nights
and lukewarm beer
singing drunken carols
while planning for all
our projects in one go--

If I could
live forever
in this small monotony,
I suppose
there are worse
ways to never
die.

I cling
to my vice
because it is
the only constant
in a world
that seems to move on
without me.

To stand still
is to fall back.

Back into that hole
I've been living in.
Not stuck,
for I have always
been capable
of calling for help.

But I have been called higher,
deeper,
cleaner.

My new constant
should be the knowledge
of my struggle.
I am free to refuse,
to stay still,
but at what cost?

My sanctity
will cost me
everything.

I am not
the version of myself
that will be called
holy
heroic
courageous
I am called to conversion
day, after day,
after day.

Teach me to wade.
I can't swim,
so guide me in
to my ankles
my knees
my waist

Prepare my lungs
to be submerged
for I can't stand
on dry land
much longer.

My purity
lies past the horizon
and, little by little,
I will make my way.

I have never
borne a child.

But there is
a part of me
that craves
the catharsis
of seeing something
so delicate
and pure
and so much
a part of myself
come from within,
from a place
of love.

Some days
I wonder
how I could have
ever been trusted
to bring up
something so good
(in humility)
with so much beauty
(in modesty)

every moment
it begs
for truth--
how could I not
give this little one
my name?

Other days
the roles are reversed
and suddenly it is
my fears that
are comforted
my tears that
are dried
my passion,
confusion,
or other outburst
borne with grace
on the page--
in these moments
the begetter
is held together.

No,
my children are not
flesh and bone
but rather
heart and soul

and my job
is to prepare them
to go out
and change
the world.

And just like that--
like a cold snap
crashing through
a summer's eve--

I am above
temptation.

As those words
cross my mind
I realize
this stable footing
I've pridefully conjured
proves to be no more
than a tightrope
tauntly strung
over that very same chasm
I've stumbled into
far too often.

Step
by step
is the only way.

Although I know
the stakes are high
I can't help
but look up
and smile.

Praise and blessings
that I
do not have
to walk alone.

Maybe this
is the look
of fading intimacy--

As we continue
to light candles
gold flickers on
dimly-lit tableware
Bread (the same as always)
still needed
still sacred

Still.

Time is where
the ties that bind
are woven
over and under
a basket
meant to carry
budding life
through denial

--Intimacy faded,
but not away:
rather, blazing affection
morphed into subtlety,
into routine
like breathing:
as you think,
you struggle,
so best to let the body
do the work
it was made for.

To be this close
is to recognize only your body
your breath
your words
for any Other
is close enough
to be completely entwined,
enraptured,
captivated.
To separate
is to die
and this partnership
is life itself.

When passion cools
may strength be seen
in what is not heard.