On The Nature of Longing

Walking tranquil wood paths
in the chill of winter morning
I always stopped to breathe as if
by expanding my chest, my lungs could hold

a moment

carefully

gently

letting it seep

letting it settle

I always stopped to breathe
as if
my lungs could hold

eternity.

But it’s like reaching out my hand to catch
dust mites floating at the window
like the lingering smell of Chinese dinner
seeping into the wooden table
like the crunch of dead leaves and crisp wind
and color all around me
like the taste of fresh fruit
apples crunchy and strawberries sweet
like stopping for a moment
thinking I see a familiar face on the crowded sidewalk
and wishing I was walking with my best friend
back
home.

like pictures and emails

and
reaching

reaching out

for dust mites long gone

and light receding

and windows closed

because the air is too muggy

as the AC blares and I continue

mulling over the
nature of longing

But even here
even here
I still stop
to breathe
though I haven’t seen the stars in months

and cars drone through the night
and my trees are the stuff of concrete.

I’ll still stop to breathe.

this moment

I cannot hold eternally
but maybe
someday

one day

I’ll no longer be
a stranger born for another shore.

Until then,
I breathe
as you teach me
the beauty of longing.

Flowers

Sometimes I find
that I hold on too tight

squeezing
twisting
until the flowers
droop dead in my hands

too much
too little
words said in good intent
yet sometimes I find

I hold on too tight

Today Daddy
I will pick some flowers from the field
and give them to you
to place in your vases by the windowsill
with the soft sunflower curtains
bathed in yellow light

So I won’t go on
squeezing
twisting
until dead flowers
fall from my hands

Daddy teach me

how to hold

flowers

Hot Cocoa and Summer Porches

Sing me a song of woodsy cabin
smoke
And hot cocoa on rocking chairs
as your eyes hold me

Sing me a song
of summer porches
wind chafed wheat
and dancing poplar trees

Sing me a song of endless plains
and yellow igloos
of sunlight touching dark blue
hills and feathers
gliding on laughing breezes

Sing me a song of fishing by
narrow creeks
of footprints on fresh
snow banks
of lamplit walks
on late misty nights
making our way home

Sing me a song
of car rides in the rain
as I whisper
to you
cheek pressed against
cold window glass

Sing me a song of hallowed
spaces
found in the cracks of
ocean cliffs
chasing sand crabs
jeans rolled up
feet scrubbed raw
delighting in the sound of
your laughter

Sing me a song
knit me a sweater
to wrap close
on empty winter nights

Sing me a song
so I know I’m not alone.

Hope

Today I met a girl named Hope

At your local McDonald’s.

She was dressed in orange.

Hair in curls.

Trying to find her way home.

A Portrait of Joy

Joy, dancing on the rooftops.
Howling, wild, in the wind.

Joy, pounding with the ocean’s waves.
Singing, free, in the hurricane.

Joy, breaking through every chain.
Painting, grace, another way.

Joy, lighting on outstretched hands.
Giving, glad, to all who know its name.

Joy, swaying softly in the hearth fire.
Humming, subtle, in the place called home.

Joy, loving life and all its days.
Plowing, steady, through the pain.

Joy, weeping with the starving child.
Standing, vulnerable, in the darkest deeps.

Joy, leaping from telephone poles.
Loving, delighted, every droplet of rain.

Joy.
An open secret.
Want it?
Go find its name.