There are so many books filled with so many words!

Flowing and covering me and spilling again and again.

The words are alive, too! The best part: my words are becoming their words.

How exciting, this new world.

I've been living inside the walls of my head,
They are wallpapered with flowers: green, ivory, and brown.
My days are decorated with lines from a book.
I'm lost inside murals of poetry and romance.

I like this room. I am preparing cribs for children and learning stories to tell them. I have kisses budding and so much love.

Its quiet and alone, but I have so much love for the future.

the expansive west

i feel it,

as i'm walking home past the midnight hour

into the morning

weaving through the city

quiet and near tears

after i watched the almost-love pack up

and leave the show,

seeing so many buildings

and so little else,

i feel it.

the way of grace

I have to constantly remember that the way of grace is different than the way of the world; it is different than my way.

Quietly, I am willing to shoulder the burdens of my failure and retreat until I've fixed them.

Persistently, grace gathers me unto himself, telling me we'll fix it together, we'll fix it together.

Against all instrinct, fulfilling all hope.

what i love about jesus are his scars.

in living, i have found that the most beautiful thing is to be known.

i have seen girls' hearts break over ernest eyes that seek to know.

(but to the hungry, even what is bitter tastes sweet,

bad love is better than no love.)

what i love about jesus are his eyes and his scars.

i have eyes and scars, too.

(he is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief,

he and i, were are born of the same human blood, he sees my tears.)

i am sick from bitter bread and bad love.

i have scars from pretend knows.

(who, made himself nothing...and being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself,

he did not think it too much to die like i am dying, so that i may stop dying.)

(by his wounds, we are healed,

he knows me, he knows me, he loves me.)

he does not give bitter bread,

he does not give bad love.

life and its burdens

i loved you because you heard me.

the hidden notes that strike below words

and into meanings-

life and its burdens felt light resting on four shoulders.

(and i, i think, heard you too.

except when the distance turned to echos of what we wanted the other to say.)

now i am afraid to speak again,

for fear that if you hear me,

i might never stop

to see that you put all of the weight back on me.

Le Ballon Rouge

i just saw a red balloon float float above the skyline outside of my window.

I LOVE HOPE.

even the smallest little pictures of children's hearts give me hope, hope, hope.

is it too much to say that we ache for life? all of our muscles are just so thirsty.

goodbye.

i miss you.
i miss you and today i thought of all the ways that i could have avoided this happening.


one by one i recounted every i love you that i felt in every step, my feet and hands waiting for your feet and hands to be there too. there is so much expectancy in love. in expecting you, i grew in i love yous.


my mouth, stunned and silent at the weight of words, held off. i remember how heavy my tongue felt in those last days before, even heavier after. before, i was ripe with so much promise. after, caught in an empty nothing. death always happens this way. one day something is alive, the next, it is not.


i am back to i miss you. there is no friend to take your place, because each place is so unique. what i have been missing is not the absence of just someone, but of you. there is no one else in the world like you, and now you are gone. this truth though simple makes me ache.


looking forward i see that it must be done. though i will always miss out on all that you are and though i may think back to you and be so proud to know that you are human- wonderful, glorious and terrible- i must go now. i do not like standing here in the empty road waiting for your return. i do not like missing out on living, waiting for your life.


absence is death of the worst kind. it teases and taunts; you are not dead, but you have died in me. you are not gone but you have disappeared. you still breathe, but i can not hear it anymore.


all of my anthems remain true, but i will let them go to remain and hang in summer space.


as long as it is summer, i love you.
now that it is autumn, i loved you.


i have to go away now. i must find new roads. i must embrace them now.
goodbye.

everything, please just come to life.

it's october!

everything, please just come to life, in the midst of death, and let these arms gather, gather, gather herbs for you from the garden and build you a meal that will you make you feel at home. we can have a fire and we can have some tea and we can read a poem and we can have eyes that smile, even in the midst of death.

everything, please just gather in a home so warm with laughter and i am not running away, i am just finding respite by the ocean. i will know as much as there is to know about the land, and wouldn't it be great to be a midwife? and honey, we will have children just because we can't handle how much love we have.

he will find me because my eyes, like a lighthouse, are sending search signals calling lost ships home.

it's weak to admit that i am needy and i am tired of being alone, but i am weak and i do so much better in love. i've never proved anything by my independence except that i am a wall. i don't like walls, and my defenses are drained from weeping, and here it is:

i am waiting for him to find me.

so damn beautiful.

currently, the most beautiful time of day is catching glimpses of everything he brought to life still living. i am still living! did you hear it? i still love, i still laugh. those secret hidden things that he said, 'this is you', and i saw me, they are still me and in me and they haven't left with him. just because he saw threads in a tapestry doesn't mean they're pulled out. that makes me feel so damn beautiful.

it's still possible to grow a garden, and it's still possible to be by the ocean, and it's still possible to have a family and have a home.

i can still bake bread.

in fact, someone left a bread maker in my apartment just to prove it.

i hear the ocean

even riding down the river,

i hear the ocean calling me back

sea salt sprays across my eyes,

and i know.

it's going to be home, one day.

and everything simple is just okay right now.

i want a home and a love and so many gardens.

i want.

i want to run into fields and i want the grass to sway on my skin because i just need something soft.

i remember i went to yosemite and we spent the morning in a field and i could have stayed there forever with the sun so warm on my face, and mountains protecting us on all sides.

i want thunderstorms, it is the season, because i feel one brewing in me and i just need something to break.

i remember walking home one night and watching lightning flash against the empire. i need to get it out. my clouds are weighing heavy beneath my eyes and beneath my chest.

remember when we used to pray and wretched tears would fall down our faces and we felt the weight of living? sometimes the relief hurt just as much, for a little while.

i'm like you, darling girl, i miss it too. i miss sweet eternal love.

i don't so much know how we got here or where home went. i feel more like tumbleweed roaming through the desert,

waiting for some rain.

waiting for some tears.

waiting for some love.

i am still

it seems like the broken thing in me has settled comfortably at the bottom of my rib cage. it lies there undisturbed and sometimes i forget that its there.

and then, something shakes me or moves me or i just get up to fast, and what i thought was healed stabs me all over again.

not healed, just covered over with more recent whirlwind worries.

i am still broken from something that doesn't matter, except to me it matters a great great deal.

glory, glory

I don't want to attribute things to G-D that aren't him. I don't want G-D to be so small, that I have to accredit him to such little things.

Really, I just want a bigger G-D. A bigger understanding of YWHY. Did he overcome death? If so, let him be so powerful here, now. Let him be himself, glory, glory.