You know
In the hush between words
In the way a name
Feels lighter or heavier
On the tongue.

You know when it's love
Not by the flowers they bring
Bt by how they stay
When the pedals fall.

You know who's yours
And who's only passing
Through the hollow
Of your hope .

You know who holds you
With clean hands
And who touches you
With doubt.

You know who to trust
By the silence
That doesn't sting.

You know  who to choose
By how your soul softens
When they speak.

You always know
Before the goodbye
Before the first lie
Before the ache .

Even when you pretend
You don't
You do.

Because when it's real,
You never have to ask
Bt when it's not,
No answer ever fits


You know
You've always known.

"Let us rebuild, so that,
we may be no
longer a reproach",… it is just

business/ Nehemiah spake
put this on your business card

directly, in spirit, to David
Barton, inspirational director,
for many a proud warrior for truth.

Jesus lives, we rise, we agree, in me.

Where lay the Kingdom of God, back then,
when he is recorded as having said,
I will, my will being done, abide
side any who hear the knock,

as an innocent, or a lying, cheating scoundrel,
that's the good news, war has never worked,
peacemaking all ways works, one on one.

Honed most point, tip to tip... touch
spirit face to spirit face
messenger to message, dare we say
in the presence of at least as many as
have testified to seeing grave dwellers walking,

most certainly there was darkness, and that curtain,

between the holiest of holies, and every day sanctity,
ripped… rippity re-occurence right down the middle,
opening all reality
to the Wizard
of Oz's most esoteric

special effect
on the ensuing Easter audiences, seeing
it, over and over, until the metaphor, the riddle becomes

dabar, a very humble word translated many ways, see::

Pens with motors are more powerful than swords,
of any sort… logos significant cannot loose dabar yah, we

in this form minding manners men agree to abide beneath,

but
but
but
on good advice,
from bar mitzvahed friends, dead and living,

the use of labor, during interesting times, as mobs

to make unified mind form encase believers in
situations indisputably dangerous, used right

by godfearing law enforcement officers, right
used by a leader exactly, to the hairs on his head,

like the guy on television who crashed all those casinos.

rearrange.

fail flee feel

that! feels more write.

we fail at 90% of out endeavors;

we flee to the recesses
and the excesses;

we feel, most keenly,
our sense of loss,
and yet the inner linings of our
cells, once more greet a Sun-day that marks a mild fresh-ness and our involuntary ****** muscles bend
intro to a small smile,
and once more,

we breach the day with right hooks of positivity, warmth, music, and begin  to
remember  to
    feel feelings, assorted,
and we minutely reborn and the fluids of birthing are wiped away

and coffee seals the deal...and a hopeful day begins and forgiveness
and forgetting is the clean start clothes we dress ourselves within,
and with out, comfy jeans, well worn raggedy t shirt that you refuse to obey, expressly forbid her

to descard,
(not a rypo).
and you annoy her
with twenty kisses,
cause you don't want to spoil her,,,
too much

We move through the night,
though the streets seem empty,
we look left and right,
electric vehicles are stealthy.

As we exercise stepwise, sunrise happens.
and black night fades its cover.
Like phoresy, painted, pieces of heaven,
the day opens with primary colors—
reds that delight, oranges that tease
and peacocking yellows that leaven.

As the counterfeit rainbow enchants and rouses,
streetlights waver and douse,
lights flicker on in houses,
and the earth blossoms active in borrowed hues.

Morning twinkles with its particular, angular light,
as we enter the still still lobby.
They’ve already set out the coffee!
With a sip, I feel the morning's started right.
.
.
Songs for this:
Day Tripper by MonaLisa Twins
Our Day Will Come by Amy Winehouse

how odd, how rare. eyes connect,
and the irrelevant falls away, so,
to the end of the beginning we go,
how odd, how rare, she tired of
players, gamers, inevitable disappointment,
so she assays his
approach, snd speaks first:

What are you after?

no hesitation no guising, no uncertainty, he states with surety,
product of grace added to sadness of series of serious accumulations of
disappointment,

"A shared understanding..."

Equals in their shocked surprise,
both stare, hard, then harder,
examining faces and rising heat,
suppressing the intriguing intensity,
imagining outcomes, not endings,
futures, not casualties, and the
assessing silence, not uncomforting,

indeed, the silence soothes, the
attraction stirring and they answer
the overhanging questioning answered simultaneously, with a
yes, a simple supposition, an agreed upon proposition, a mutuality
calming, and the ending of a
shared understanding...and the beginning of a who knows untold
possibilities