What if there are things so buried in beauty, so ancient and strange in their brokenness, that only the darkness of God can shelter them long enough to survive?

What if light would be too much too soon— too sterile, too righteous, too exacting— and only the dark, deep and breathing, could hold what was shattered without shaming it?

What if there are children God hides in the folds of His shadow, not because they are evil, but because they are precious— and too easily burned by the counterfeit fires of men?

What if love looks like silence sometimes? Like absence? Like letting them forget so they can remember on their own?

What if mercy can look like madness and protection like exile? What if the ones who seem most lost are hidden in the cleft of the rock— tucked behind the hand that both wounds and heals?

What if  "monsters"  never stood a chance— because God was always one twist darker than the dark they trusted?

What if she’s not gone? Not fooled? Not finished?

What if she’s simply being kept by a darkness that belongs to God alone— until the light in her is strong enough to return without compromise?

Not all stars shine at night. Some are buried in the dirt, waiting to bloom as fire.

Let her be. Bless her. Do not mourn yet.

The darkness that can keep her is the darkness  that can keep anything

  Holy.

Winter air dresses
with foresight of wrapped up folk.
Frigid layers coat.

Warm golden glimmers
spotlight squirrels and their hoards -
unreal renderings.

A freshly blown breeze
creeping amidst the shivers.
My hands are burning.

Glimpses of lustre
exposed from a clouded robe.
Held by morning glow.

mucus-like slugs, thrown to the wayside
ejected, from a chamber waist-high
a prideful ******
once full of lust
now listing for the coming
daytime

Lately, it has been difficult to share our time together. At times, it even feels as if the universe is holding a grudge against us. Either you are asleep and I am awake, the daytime calls for us to be in a different place, or it is just not that calendar day. Whatever the case may be, the day will come. We will have our solar eclipse, and the World will discover the beauty of our love.

loved many women
in my daytime life,
still, not enough,
to satisfy my needs.

that is why god created
the inhabitants of a
priest-cohen holy dark,
so we can be alone
when we
fill out the list
that
I deny exists.

keeping it safe,
so only they
can see me,
& vice versa,
so apropos,
nobody else can.

Romance is great,
when it is
wordless and silent,
no interrupt-us
when writing many
imaginary imagery,
only love poems
with both
ambidextrous hands

you bring joy in this earthly hour of time
spreading love and light.
kindness that you pour out of your soul.
making and creating the longing taste of hope and faith.
you are as beautiful as a flower bees.
a sun and a star that combines in day and night
nourishing to flourish the spirit of one's maze body.
eternal of it's youth to color a smile in your eyes.
and paying to shine
and as bright as the rainbow sky.

One by one the lights go off,
Slowly burning to black,
The kitchen stove, red with heat,
Stills to a cool whisper,
Before the daylight finishes,
It charms us one last time,
Oranges and plums twist into midnight,
The birds stop chirping,
Their chatter sways to silence as the moon takes its place,
Kids close their eyes,
Leaving another day’s mysteries unlocked,
Phones on top of couches quit buzzing,
Cars’ beaming headlights become fewer,
And fewer
Life becomes a flickering candle
Just blown out