Regret

It almost seems I knew it all along.
As if some shadows traveled back in time
with hidden omens of the thing to come,
rising just before, somehow just beyond
my senses' best abilities to know
and turn perception into deed.

But now it hardly matters any more,
if future hints have ever reached my eyes,
because I have convinced myself they did
and that I failed to heed their telltale signs...
And so, regret takes residence within
where only sorrow's work belongs.

A Measure of Grace

I come to you the moment I return.
I've been away again -- away too long --
and half-spent tithes are all I have, or worse.

You see me on my knees, a clinging man,
embracing pasts I thought I'd left behind,
seeking solace in the arms from which I ran.

Once more, you take my sacrifice as whole --
as if you add a measure of your grace
to those whose need is greater than their soul.

In the quiet of the night, you touch my face
and every broken thing is put to right
beneath the feathers of your hands.

New Moon

A new moon rises, showing us its night.
The poet's side has spun toward empty space
and left a barren darkness in its place.
No inspiration comes from this ill light
and shadows fill each empty soul with spite.
A new moon rises.

When morning comes we'll pray to find the grace
to understand how losing all that's bright
can sometimes help us see a smaller light,
a light that gives us strength to stand and face
a new moon rising.

Rising

Just before dawn, we understand.
You are a dream we must release
in order for this night to end.
We press our faces to your hair
inhaling your slumbering scent.
Outside, the sparrows let you go,
the leaves kiss your wrists as you pass,
the grass and dandelions cry
grasping your ankles to their chests,
their thin wails echo in the grey
birth of the day, somehow rising
around the empty of our arms.

footsteps
muffled by snow
ring with a sudden bass
beneath the cover of the bridge --
your voice

so clear
I remember
your voice -- and then your face
ripples like the moon on water
through tears