This morning, I went into your home
And hung up all the cobwebs
That I had collected.
I dumped a bucket of dust
All over the floors and kicked it
Into the air, making it hard to breathe.
I smeared the mud from my shoes
All over your brand-new carpet, thinking,
"I've done this before, and I wonder
If he will still forgive me;"
That's when you came walking
Through the door with a broom in hand,
And open arms for this vandal.

When you love someone for long enough,
You begin speaking their language.
You find yourself saying the same things,
Even stumbling over the same words;
I used to think it was silly the way she'd
Say "Spiracha" instead of "Sriracha,"
But love has a way of changing
The way you think,
Translating your old ways of
Thinking into something new.  
Intercultural.  Bilingual.

Meeting with God
Is not like
Taking a trip to
The Principal's office.
It's like eating a meal
With an old friend,
One who can melt
All of your anxiety
With the simple
Pleasantness
Of his company.

Don't let life crush you
Like a buzzing fly
Beneath its shoe.
Buzz a little louder,
Fly a little closer,
Land a little softer,
Just don't get crushed.

When we were mourning
The loss of our friend,
The pain didn't seem so bad
Because you and I went back
To work in the sheepfold.

But when you took that job
In the vineyard last week,
Pruning young vines,
I found myself in the field
Without your ears to listen,
Without your eyes to see
The pain my heart was beating.

Now here I am,
The loss of two friends
Pressing down on me.
Sure, I can still meet you to
Unlatch our metal lunch boxes,
Talking with our mouths half full,
Sandwiches our wives made.
But on most days I am alone.

Here in the grazing-grass
There is no one
To hear my thoughts
But God
And the wind.