Our love is
Wine from water
Providing sustenance
And celebration-
A miracle of God's hand.

The world takes from us.
Joy, breath, soul,
All are drained away.
We give as Christ taught us,
Trusting Him to refill us.

And He gave me you,
At once the most pleasing draught,
Bright and cool,
The stuff of life,
Again the beautiful dark elixir
That warms me to remembrance
Of what I choose to live for.

So I move between
Life and wonder,
Beauty and the path
That stretches before us,
Drinking in as much of you
As I can.

He sat slouched
Against the wall of the McDonald's
Vacantly staring
At the screen of his smartphone

His bag lay next
To him
Keeping his world
Together

A spare pair of pants
Underwear a luxury
Broken shades on his face
Drooping like his
Body

Straining to watch YouTube
On the too small screen
The only connection
To the unreal world
He wished
He could
Go home to

I haven't seen gold
or red plumage
for many autumns-
nature's course seems
to have forgotten Fall,
leaping from pale green-
hardly Forest at all-
to something brown,
or naked.

Yet here I am in November
seeing a feast of hues
this year;
a dash of crimson
alongside something,
resembling yellow,
still clinging with its last
ounce of sinuous strength
to the branch, the vine,
life.

I can be thankful
for this respite
between equinox and solstice,
between long and short,
hot and cold,
a pleasant moment of peace.

A model of pretense
and monopoly
          "And now, Oprah's favorite things!"

Where choice doesn't really exist-
We get the same
However we choose
          Right...left...whatever

Dogs barking, howling
at whoever lives in the white house,
Beck, Limbaugh, Olbermann, Maddow...
we see the mouths moving,
and all we hear is blame
and fear,
sarcasm and hopeless wit.
          "We'll be right back after the break..."
          with more from the EIB Network...
          or MSNBC...
          or Fox News

We've found that what we have
in common
is at the bottom,
not the top.
         "Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!"

Forgetting our history,
doomed to repeat it
          "All glory is fleeting, All glory is fleeting..."

A country where tilting
at windmills,
or millstones
means you're crazy...
Forget what's important

Frozen, with a nearly toothless grin,
curly hair,
sweet baby fat cheeks
mid-roll on the floor,
trying to get away from
a much younger me
blowing raspberries
on your belly.

"The next thing you know,"
they used to say,
"She'll be in school,
getting straight A's and
making friends."

"The next thing you know,"
your mom spoke to me,
"She'll be going to dances
and playing games,
she'll be graduating soon..."

"The next thing you know"
your grandparents warned,
"she'll be leaving,
one extra room
you never
really wanted."

The vacancy we anticipate
brings an odd
sadness,
earlier than we expected.

The next thing we know some boy will
profess
his love for you,
and likely will never
quite meet my expectations.
But, then, I'll remember
the grace
your mother's parents
showed me,
and I'll relent,
and allow your love
to be God's grace
for him.

And the next thing I know,
I will be surrounded by small ones
who look
just like you,
and him,
and I'll roll on the carpet,
blowing raspberries
into their bellies.