Traveling back to humanity
from a place where there is hopelessness
beyond hopeless,
where one believes in God
and will not trust God.
Lost in a spiritual wilderness
for twenty-one days,
by grace alone not forty.
There is no fear quite like
the fear that your fervent prayers
are being ignored,
or put on celestial Hold:
"...your call will be answered
by the next available Higher Power;
estimated wait time is
approximately three lifetimes."
There are times
when I must founder,
battered, shattered
against the reef of my ego,
baptized by drowning in self-pity
before emerging, reborn
on a safe shore in sheltered harbor,
pulled in by willing friends
who miss me when I'm lost.

this moment before the real one,
you know,
when you're preparing for an ending,
or maybe a beginning,
same difference anyways, right?

i have waited so many moments to
get to this one,
only to realize it's the first moment
of many while waiting for the next one

i find myself jumping into each
without much hesitation,
but the trick isn't showing up,
it's being present

The family is smiling on the dinner table.

This morn the hearse lifted the pall of hush
as white flowers rolled on wheels
lifting the spirit to heaven with the incense smoke
and the electric furnace like the magician
shrank the remaining kilos into neat pile of ashes
for the river to scatter to the sea of infinity
amid the silent prayer we're alive, long live the dead
the trudge back home where the count is one less
on the dinner table
mourning and celebrating.

My granddaughters bounce
in bikinis to the pool;
now hardly children.

There's no magic to
magick; look around, observe
daily miracles.

Because recycled
themes keep showing up, guess
I'm a green poet.