the night closed in when i shut my eyes,
a blackness like none i know,
everything shut out,
a communion,
standing barefoot in the grass,
as the rains fell, baptizing me,
a marriage of soul -
mine with the universe -
confirming that which i knew in my heart,
a new holy order begun
as my path was set straight,
my past sickness anointed and blessed,
taken away
as i was reconciled to my God.

there is something to be said
              about the way
                                a deflated
                             ball
                           sits
                        at
                     the
                end of the
                   street,
             beside the rain gutter,
             too flat to have rolled there by itself.

strolling,
letting the not yet hot breezes of spring
blow 'round me,
i am taken somewhere else,
escaping on the perfume of blossoms
as on a magic carpet,
to a meadow lush and green,
where the heady breath of hyacinth
holds me close,
and i am a boy once more,
on adventures terrible and grand,
saving the world one day
and conquering it the next,
my wooden sword and imaginary allies
at my side,
as the breezes blow the blossom-petals,
a softer snow to surround me,
the stuff of legend
in an ordinary world like this,
where i simply went for a stroll.

sometimes,
you just need an old friend,
someone who knew you when,
with whom you can sit down
and share a cup of coffee,
and talk about the blessings of life,
and the pains, too.
no expectations,
no need to impress -
just a cup of coffee and conversation,
two old friends
listening to one another.

every morning i need the 50 -
they come one by one,
and groups, sometimes,
and not all at once, but shifts.
15,
10,
25,
20,
5, sometimes,
but i need to get to 50 -
why?
it holds no specific value to me,
but it works -
it's the right number for me, right now.
but i have to start with 1,
lower myself to the floor, and press back up again.
every morning,
never stop,
can't stop,
won't stop,
because i need to get to 50 today.

my body aches,
hands and feet are pierced with
the pain that comes from labor,
muscles sore from lifting
the leaden weight over and again.
how easy to say 'no, i shall not do it'
and let this day pass away like any other.
but the aches and pains have meaning,
a small bit of suffering endured
for the better,
one i will make again and again,
because the work is more important
than the pain and the discomfort -
it is the act of working that
brings honor to the labor,
because I do not have to do it -
i choose to.

i wish i could tell you
everything will be ok -
you will never worry,
you will never want,
you will never know what it is to suffer loss -
but i cannot.

i wish i could say
that this was your most difficult day,
and that things will only get better -
that you will never know failure,
and that every day henceforth will be as gold.
but i would be lying.

no, little child,
i can only promise you that this life
is fraught with challenges,
that your heart will break,
that you will find failures and successes both,
that there are many things you will never understand.

and i will be by your side for as many of
those moments as i can be,
that i will offer you any support i can,
and above all,
that i will always love you,
throughout all the triumphs and trials of your life.

little life,
you can be so big,
and i look forward to sharing the journey.