Walking to the scenic falls
Men in black
With women in an odd shade of
Green
And one, beautiful in white.

Take the hike
Up the hill
To the future--
His future,
Her future,
Their future.

The look on his face
As I passed by
One of blind anticipation,
The occasion,
The people swirling
All about him, unknowing,
At the center.

She followed at a distance,
So not to be seen
By his ambitious eyes,
She in her white gown
And tennis shoes,
Climbing the grade
Before the descent
Into the peaks and valleys
Of love.

She's on the bench now,
Our gift to rec soccer...

"Two touches and a pass, Hannah."

I remember when rolling on the floor,
Tickle-induced laughter peeling
Was our Sunday joy.

"Keep your head up--Look! Hannah!"

Even in her shady sideline spot
She has more grace than the others.

"Hannah, you have to work on speed!"

Now a long-legged beauty
Running in the sun.

"Shoot. Shoot! Hannah! Shoot the ball!"

Unaware of her dad
Encouraging...
Guiding...
Screaming!

"Goal!"

As if these days were all for me.

Frustration is the bellows
that blows the coals
Hot.

Thankless work begs
to be done,
Needful and important,
Necessity its only charm.

So we labor
Doing our best,
Filling the gaps
and wondering
What we should do
Next.

For a moment
We see the fruit
Hanging on the tree;
We must walk
the Red Hot coals
to taste its
sweetness.

There you go
with the rest of the
Dream Carriers,
White on top of Black,
at least light on dark,
Singing the tunes
Written
To set apart
This day
From all of the others.

There's this strange connection
Between you and me;
I find you instantly,
One out of a couple hundred
By the shape of your head-
Mine, only smaller,
And I wonder
If you can do the same, see me,
One of a thousand
Clapping heads
In the darker hall...
No, I don't suppose so.

But then flashing bulbs
Stop
And parents collect the future
And I see you looking
For me
So hard that you look
Right through me,
Until I fill your gaze,
Close enough to
Touch,
Tomorrow reaching for today.

I've been walking this road
for some time now,
enjoying the curves
and bends
and hills, the valleys
not so much.

This road, this path
occasionally with shaded
shoulders, at times
Full Sun Hot, is anything
but straight.
Boredom never walks
with me here;
my eyes must always
be open,
waiting for the next
unexpected dip or
s v
w r e.
e

My love reminds me
that the only way
is forward-
backward can never happen-
it's best to forget the stumbles
as soon as they happen
lest we trip over them
again.

The reward is in the journey-
I can say I walked
with you on this road...
and that you enjoyed enough
of the trip
to love me.

They don't say much
Now,
The folks for whom
The bell tolls
Today.

Names and memories
From a thousand
Pasts,
Some shared
So that a collective smile
Crosses our faces.

All saints, I suppose,
Some more than others;
Though true saints,
To be sure,
For someone.

The pastor calls out names,
Many he never knew,
The shared faith
Enough of an assurance,
Blessed and certain,
That God's city
Will have enough room
For all of them
And us.

I have a friend
Who draws maps.
He makes ancient cities
New,
Replacing the boulevards of despots
With streets
And avenues
And alley ways
That free people
Travel.

There is a cartography
of the heart,
Unseen on his work,
Blue streets travelled
by remorseful lovers
Parting,
Red paths
Showing the secret trails
Used by enflamed hearts,
Searching each other
Out.

We can find our way
and be lost
at the same time-
A map only helps
If you already know
Where you
are going.