untitled

Two children of the universe
met in the mud today.
One recognized the other,
the other didn't say.

One named the other,
the other just sat still.
One was just a tourist,
the other just sat still.

Two children of the universe
met in the mud today.
One left for home,
the other chose to stay.

Look.

Look!  We are the universe
complating itself
Look, look, look
at the universe.
What do you see?

Look, look, look
at each other,
brothers and sisters.
What do you see?

Look, look, look
at children growing
amid the rubble.
What do you see?

Look, look, look
at the hungry
and the dying.
What do you see?

Look, look, look
at money changing
in the hands of the wealthy.
What do you see?

Look, look, look
at those with the guns,
the rulers of nations.
What do you see?

Look, look, look
at the pious, the reverent
the preachers of God.
What do you see?

Look, we are the universe,
the sky, the soil,
the water, and the air.
What do you see?

Gardening

Taking care of green things,

Seedlings, plants, bushes, and trees,

The loosening of the soil,

The mulching and pulling weeds,

The watering,

Does this cultivate

Something inside of me?

Do I also grow in my garden?

Will I take root?

Will I flower?

Between Two Horizons

I stand between two very long times,

Rays stretching out beyond my horizon.

The past is certain, but not really known,

The future is uncertain and unknown.

The past belongs to my fathers and grandfathers,

The future belongs to my children and grandchildren.

The past is memory, a sigh perhaps,

The future is a hope, and also a sigh.

I stand trying to remember how I got here,

And wondering where I might be going.

Weeds

There are no weeds

In God’s Garden.

Has He pulled them all out?

Or does He look at everything

And calls it all good?

There are no weeds

In God’s Garden;

There sure are a lot

In mine.

Lammas

It happens before I notice.

Petals wilt and fall,

greens turn yellow;

the middle of summer

is still very alive,

but ripened,

and gone to seed.

Blossoms become apples,

grass becomes wheat,

sunflowers bow their heads

heavy, black with seeds.

I cannot point

to the hour or day

I got old

but it must have been

in August

Satellite

You hold me
In your arms,
In you gravitational field.
I am yours,
And yet I have my velocity.
I cannot escape you,
But I also cannot join you.
And so we dance together,
Pulling each other
Together.