All my life I wanted you,
Desperate for the life of you,
Holding to the dream of you,
Dear daughter.

All these days I'm loving you,
Desperate to help all of you,
Hoping that the life of you,
Discovers, dear daughter

All the dreams you dare to dream,
Dream those dreams with all your hope.
Hope and find that life that's yours,
Dear daughter.

In it all
Through it all
When it all comes crashing
In
it find
through it find
When you find the meaning
In
it know
That life will go
On through it all... with you in it.

When I was poor you fed me
words of encouragement.

When I was young you held me
accountable and true.

When I was gone you called me

Somewhere in the loose change you find it- your brokenness.
Somewhere in the soapy bath water you feel it- your uncleanliness.
Somewhere in the setting sun you see it- you're ending.

Nowhere in your life can you fathom it- your importance.

Somewhere, under the bent branches,
heavy with snow, waits a whisper.

A whisper of all that space has seen-
    the wolf sifting slowly through drifts of snow.
    the deer pausing, alert and eying the depths of the wood.
    centuries of life moving through this clearing.
And the wind will come.  And the wind will carry the whisper.
Carry it to the ear of a poet that will
write the wolf to life, and lower, once again, the deer's head
to graze.  

And the centuries that had lived in that clearing will be given
words and life.  And the centuries more
will hear the whisper and know the clearing.

'Give us this day',
just this day. No more.

'Give us this day',
my only love.  Only her.
Just this day.

Tomorrow's are foolish.
Full of nothings.
This day, this one with this
One.  That's all.

'Give us' my love, my friend,
my wife, my life, the mother,
my only.  'This day'.

Just this.

I loved you the other day
as I watched you die.

And still today, as you cheat death,
I love you the same.
You live like anyone else-
dying with each exhalation.

And I watch you die, each day.
I feel the time we share slip past.
I feel the heart that beats lose out.
I feel the idea of us grow slight.

I watched you dying today-
sleeping soundly as I cinched my
tie- sheets pulled tight as if
an image of sound contentedness.
I watched you dying today-
somewhere in you, a dream.  Somewhere
in you, a heart beating- carrying you
along like the rhythm of a drum.
I watched you dying today-
as I died along with you in time.

Go Find yourself.
Find you.

I hope you're Finding happy.

Get your Finding life together.
Get Found.

I'm not writing for you,
you reader.
How could I?

I'm not writing to prove
myself.  I know already.

I'm only writing.  

To tell the pen to
work.  To tell the cursor
to never blink a breath.
To tell something I cannot
tell the disappointed clerk,
or disillusioned worker,
or disheartened lover.

To write.  To add
permanence to an
otherwise irretrievable
thought that will be lost,
I know it will,
like the passion,
the illusion,
the heart.

It's the ship of
she, and she, and she
that I need to steady.
But I am only this one man,
and father to all three.

And I'm only half sure
I'm half right
half the time.  But
she, and she, and she- trust me.
Trust me, they do.  
   I see it in their eyes
                    their smiles
                    their sleep.

And I'm only thinking about
what happened today
and guessing about tomorrow. But still
they love me.  I feel she, she, and she
always will.  

And I feel the weight of this steady,
though heavy and I'll never hold.  
And the she, and the she, and the she, of ships
will trust in the things they're told.  

But how do you steady the she and she,
And the she she'll grow to be?
Whoever never taught me
owes me an explanation.

I'll steady her the best I can,
and know at the very least,
the ships of she, and she, and she
will get the best of me.

I watched you silly-walk.
Your legs stretched thin,
          Your body a jumble
of comic-meets-actress-meets-
kid.

I watched you silly-walk.
All seven years of you.
          I sat. watch
ing, love
ing, hope
ing that you'd look over.

I watched you silly-walk
and wondered why I'd never
tried that.  Fearing I'd
lost my silly-walkedness
to due dates and a long commute,
or the grindstone never ending,
or forgetting that the stars burn
out eventually-
and I might want to look up and
see them shine.

I want to watch you silly-walk.
Again.

It's almost each day that I
wonder:
did something happen?

Are they gone?  Am I alone?

It's almost each day that I
wonder:
who will go first?

Would you date? Could I live?

It's almost each day that I
wonder:
Am I closer than I know?

This week? Next year?

But it's almost each day
that I:
think of tomorrow, plan
for my retirement, nap
away an afternoon, buy
enough groceries for the
week, tell myself I'll see
them later, forget to say
goodbye- I love you.  

It's almost each day that I
forget so much.

Blah blah blah....
Love.

Blah blah blah...
Love.

Love love love...
Blah.

Move easy.  Breathe easy.
Be. easy.

Be the grain of sand, the one
man band, the nail that stands.

Be a way of life, find joy in strife,
know the loss in Might.

Be the as you are, right when you are,
just where you are.

So the chafing, the verbal strafing,
the work of making... becomes valued.

So the hating, the double stating,
the life frustrating- ends.


So be.  Move...

Admit it- you feel like it's ending-
the thinking, the talking,
the knowing,the looking,
the living, the loving

It's ending.

You follow the everything
with the palm of your hand
transformed in the world you were
once promised.

And you only know it for an instant.
And that's all it takes, anymore.

Love, for an instant.
Think, for a moment.
Live, though it's fleeting, out loud.

It's ending.  Your true life-
the one you wanted to live-
is the victim of expectation,
of answering, of following.

It's ending.  Admit it.

They come to me
with questions, with
giggles,
with more than I realize.

I know them,  need them.
They are mine.

And they cry my name
through peals of laughter.

And they cry my name
through the shadowy hall.

And it is in the darkened-ish
hallway that I then find myself,
going to them.

And it is I, the alchemist, who turns
their tears to smiles
and eventual sleep.
And it is I who, long after they drift off to sleep,
sits and listens.  Sits and watches their chests
rise and fall, like heat.

And I close my eyes then,
only to ask myself to remember,
not to sleep.