Friday, September 28, 2007

Wood & Rosin

7 September 2007, 7:25 PM

Ah, the master and the pupil-
ok, so you're not a master, but she looks to you
as if you were. She's been waiting for this moment
for years, when she'd take up the wood and rosin;
learn to play like you did once, only maybe she'll
keep with it, and one day be your better,
as I'm sure you hope she'll be.


28 September 2007, 9:21 AM

Here's where it starts, Beloved-
We are the house where the neighborhood
kids gather to play and socialize. You wanted
this and so many other things for so long,
and there was a time when it never could have
happened, not in a month of blue moons
and Sundays. But here it is, Beloved-

it begins

and not even a little bit late. Right on time,
though the road here was and remains ever
so much more painful than it ought to have been.
Yet here we are- arrived at the place
people often remember, but rarely experience.

Saturday, September 22, 2007

This Peace

22 September 2007, 11:12 AM

We slept
beneath a canopy of trees which,
according to a piece of paper,
belong to us. You and I both know
we cannot own a living thing. We only
hold it for a while and, if we
hold well, receive a gift in return
which cannot be quantified.

So we hold our Haven and each other;
lay beneath the double-vaulted ceiling
of leaf and sky; read stories and write
poetry as hours wander by and pause
to watch us linger in the space we know
we can never really own, but hope
we hold well, and receive in return,
this peace.

Friday, September 21, 2007

Where I Left My Coffee

21 September 2007, 7:06 AM

You’re there typing, and I
stand here watching, wondering
where you came from. I don’t know
if there’s anything I could have done
to deserve this solace,
if deserving even falls within
the calculation, or if life unfolds this way
for each of us, revealing
what we’ve longed for most only
when we cease to search so madly.
But I’ll take this quiet moment,
when the day has only just begun and you
are too absorbed in writing to notice
that I’m watching, admiring, loving you
from the kitchen counter, wondering
where on earth I’ve left my coffee.

Monday, September 17, 2007


17 September 2007, 9:11 AM
The Last Battle

I wonder if their hearts were
breaking as they raced across the New Narnia?
They knew all along they'd have to leave again,
or at least they feared to hope for anything
beyond what they'd known before.

They knew, by the Lion's Mane,

as wonderful as it was to pursue Him
once more, they'd say goodbye again and weep
for loss of something so precious
and again
and again.

It always struck me as unfair, how the children
were drawn in, pushed back, rarely offered
much choice in the matter. At the whim of Him
who sent for and sent back, always in His time.

There was a stubbornness in them, I think,
that must needs have been torn asunder
from their persons. Especially Lucy-

I think sometimes I understand her well-

and yet in the end, she understood far better
than her elders. I wonder if her greater obstinacy
and the beatings required to sever it
made her heart softer, more open to hope
just one

that perhaps there would come a time- perhaps
this was the Time when they would come home
to Narnia and never return to that Other Place

Monday, September 10, 2007


10 September 2007, 8:56 AM

I feel like myself today,
and I wonder where I've been?
Time has come-
Where on earth has HE been?-
to open doors and welcome
friends and family around
our table, set not only to satisfy,
but to delight with unexpected
hospitality. Even if it doesn't
turn out just the way we'd like,
still, at last we can give
out of the bounty- the overflow,
for there is joy to spare, and hope
has finally found her voice,
enough for a lifetime of Paradise,
for us and for the ones we love.

Thursday, September 06, 2007


It’s different now, in the evening
when that place has finally seen fit
to give you up, let you come home to me.
The ribbon still sways in the manufactured wind,
but I am less concerned with either of them
or the flame still faithfully flickering in the fireplace
than I am with the pulse beating beside me.
I wonder if infirmity will serve someday
to drive you to the point of preferring a cubicle
to the Haven. I’m almost certain that sort of reality
is now in the past- we’ve each lived enough of hell
to know how precious is the soil we walk upon
in this precarious present.

Man-Made Wind

6 September 2007, 8:32 AM

Here is life.
The ceiling fan whirrs above
my head, quietly insisting sanity
reigns here. The ribbon on the mantle
reminds me this is true- it reminds me
of you. In so many ways, I am certain
you remember me, but the single,
constant flame in the fireplace keeps vigil
just in case you forget.

Man-made wind- the sound is somehow
soothing, though I know it isn’t natural.
It keeps the silence away, and I imagine
with the silence, it holds back my tears.

George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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