Ritual

coffee, on the counter,
delivered with my name (or
the coffee's name) broadcast
by the barista past and above
conversations, the clicking
of laptop keys, and the odor
of that homeless guy muttering
to himself
                  I grasp the cup
the same way every time (in my
left hand, if you must know),
remove the lid, replace it just so
(the hole for drinking opposite the
seam in the paper cup ~ lined up
with the same deliberation that
a bicycle tire is placed on the
wheel, label aligned with valve
stem, just so).  I take one sip
(only one), as I return to my
table
          reminding myself,
again, that ritual keeps us sane

Vigil of Easter

darkness hangs on
    death's grip will not ease
        will not loosen
        there is no story to be told
        once the final page of life is written
    the door of the tomb slams shut

now, light seeps from the tomb
    outside, life continues, while
    inside the tomb is death
yet, from where there is only darkness
    light begins to shine

death's grip is not loosened
    death itself is no more

light shines in the darkness

Friday

What wondrous love
        and
when I survey
        and
Were you There?
        and
O sacred head
    wounded for our ...

we leave from liturgy
    from our communities
        from the sanctuary in silence

there is no song to sing
      no poetry will suffice
            no art can fully reflect reality
    since
        tonightG-d is Dead

Triduum Begins

triduum begins,
the three days
largely unnoticed -
even the ones who will
show up tonight for
    word,
    sacrament
    footwashing?

even those who show up
tonight for a
    new commandment
will have, mostly
passed their day as a normal
    *Thursday*

yet, despite our best efforts,
    G-D is doing a
        new thing

will we see,
    will we perceive?

Ashes to Palms

remember you are dust
ashes fell, awkwardly onto our
    nose
    glasses
    eye lashes
    smudge our foreheads
prompting curious glances,
comments in the grocery store

ashes gave way to a
    seasonal giving up

ashes washed away
    still mark us for a season
until, awkwardly,
    we try to sing and walk while
        waving palm leaves

the season, begun with ashes
    (our own mortality)
    now rushes toward our G-d's
        death ~
    divine mortality recalling our own,
        ashes mingling with tears.        

Spring in Colorado

even before solstice,
    the sun warmed the air, and
    warmed the ground
    encouraging hyacinths,
        daffodils, and cyclists
    out of winter's lethargy

despite the calendar
    despite the early, though
    undeniable
    need to store the skis,
        lonely in a garage corner
    despite the narcissus' arrival

I could not let go of winter.
    budding trees, longer days ~ nothing
    wrestled winter away until
    last night, spring (for me) arrived
        with the smell of rain; and let go
    overnight, turning again to snow

Turn, Turn, Turn

forty days of wilderness
turning from sin
turning to G-d

for everything a season, and
this season, for turning
back to G-d

(as if we have the strength
to turn ourselves ...)
to everything we turn

whatever's flashiest
loudest, most
colorful, unusual

to everything we turn
distracted by surprise
from what gives life

to everything we turn
yearning for satiation
we fill ourselves with

image, food, drink,
relationships, everything that
does not satisfy

until compelled by
self ... life ...
to pause, slow down

to be still
listening
for a still, small, voice

until, compelled by
desperation
to turn, again, to simple

bread, wine, water
emerging from the wild
into new life

Palm Sunday

today, we walk around outside
    leaves in our hands
    as the wind blows our
        vestments (what are those?)
    and our hair

today we celebrate
        (celebrate?)
    the impending death of G-d,
today, we do what doesn't make sense
    and what we do isn't quite right

from the beginning,
    everything we do
        singing together
        feasting on bread and wine
        capital punishment on our walls
            and around our necks
    everything we do
        doesn't make sense

in this way
        we mark what is central
    we make sense of a world turned inside-out

One possible perfect Saturday

sleeping in 'til
the dog wakes ~
then coffee and
pancakes
made from scratch

a little work
a little play
nothing to do,
really,
but nap ~

deliciously simple dinner
and an escapist movie
after the dog park
now,
to fall asleep
with a good book

uniforms

crisp, pressed, shiny, hat at the
perfect inclination for a salute

whistle, badge, gun, white gloves
for directing traffic

white shirt, green apron, bubbly attitude
as she makes my coffee

wing tips, tie, pinstripe jacket hanging beside
his desk behind the tellers

tights, a shrug, slippers for the kids' class,
pointe shoes for rehearsal tonight

hard hat, florescent vest, carhardts
keep the job site safe

flowing robes behind the bench
pronounce judgment

flowing robes from behind the altar
proclaim grace

which way do I go?

get out of the screen
and into a book

get out of the house
and into the garden

get out of the house
and into the city

get out of the city
and out into nature

get out of the car
and onto your bike

get out of your walls
and into the world

get out of your head
and into your heart

Montana on a motorcycle

roll into town late at night
Kalispell, maybe
quiet town, empty streets
as we pull up to the stoplight

a rumble swells
as the light turns green
15? 20? 25? bikes pull out
of curbside parking spots

they pass us on the right,
the last bike waving us in
getting us around the RV
that's easing us off the throttle

we ride together, our rice-burners
loaded down with luggage
among their harleys out on a
warm summer evening

our day's been long ~ we need to
make camp soon ~ but
before we part ways with them,
we all own the road

Building Then and Now

Stone upon Stone
reaching toward the heavens;
they climbed scaffolding and
hoisted supplies on cranes ~
cathedrals, for the glory of God

Steel and Iron supporting
Concrete (creating urban canyons)
are hoisted on cranes
to workers high on scaffolding ~
who do office buildings glorify?

a downtown moment

the bustle of downtown
belies, or perhaps reflects
apparent desperation

workers in the deli move fast
for the fast-moving
wing-tips and ties

what are they rushing to
... or from?

sales-people,
who just sat down
between calls,
are proud of their kids

and a lawyer who
just walked in,
later today has to manage
her own divorce


on a break from directing traffic,
his fluorescent vest slows us down
even in here, even without his
ubiquitous sign


i'm interloping here.
my agenda today: empty

though i have little in common
with the guy begging my change,
at least neither of us is in a hurry.

Chirstmastime at the Mall

Do I get that one?
Nope, it's already gone

The one over there?
It won't work either.

That one looks promising
at least from over here

getting closer, though,
there's no way.

Finally, there's one that
will work. It's a far cry

from what I really want, but
after all this looking, it'll do.

Now that I found a parking place,
it's time to start shopping.

Surprise

'Good Morning'
sounded like 'Surprise' today
when last night's rain
covered this morning's lawn
in white

what about the tulips' green shoots
just emerged into
April's warmth -
do they wish they'd stayed
bulbed
for another week?

or the song birds,
returned from winter's travels -
did they huddle together,
sharing what little body warmth
they could spare?

as for me, even
'surprise'
is still a good morning.
If not today, then soon
spring is here to stay,
and, soon
we won't be able to escape
the surprise of
new life.

Healing / Wholeness

healing
we search for healing
we think of
doctors
nurses
prescriptions
the gift of
the practice of
medicine -
vaccines and ultrasound
scans and surgeries -
grow out of the
God-given gift of
knowledge build on knowledge
genius informing experience
informing genius knowledge
of how to piece back together
body and mind

but sometimes,
healing doesn't come quickly enough
sometimes healing doesn't come on our schedule
sometimes doesn't come according to our plan

sometimes, the healing we want
never comes

unfortunately, in our life
we may never escape
a broken body

but in faith,
though we may never escape
our illness
- at least, as we seek escape through medicine

though we may never
escape illness
wholeness most certainly is possible
even while illness remains

wholeness,
and resultant
spiritual health,
are gift from G-d
G-d, who endured the shame of death
divine body broken, unhealed
G-d, who endured pain and death
in order that we would know
the wholeness of resurrection
the wholeness of new life
even now,
whether or not medicine is any help

though illness may remain
G-d gives wholeness
through divine
and unmerited
grace

Grace

amid pain and grief and sorrow
i can only beg or steal or borrow
the grace
to embrace
in the face of my neighbor
the savior

but technology
follows me
pushing and prodding
never negotiating
always anticipating
the next big thing
(the pace we race
like running rodents
prostituting potential)
staring at screens
until we eventually
connect so much to the virtual
we miss out on what is actual

can you enter
community on the web?
is it, as for a spider, where
we are caught up
wrapped up
in a net, not
of neutrality
but squandered morality

doesn't seem like community
to me

until we embrace each other
like sister and brother
(is that too trite a line
for our post-modern time?)
our pain and grief and sorrow
hang on until tomorrow
then death ~ followed by resurrection
and new connection
as we are embraced
by divine, unearned, grace

Riding a Bike

initially, it was Connie Carpenter;
after a seventy-two year
american cycling
gold medal
drought
she throws her bike across the line
photo-finish first-place

I liked bikes before -but
that day, I fell in love
it wasn't just the olympic excitement;
soon I also discovered
speed
thrill
accomplishment
bragging rights
and the freedom of
unencumbered mobility and
self-sufficiency

there are things we never forget
like how to ride a bike
but the how is so much more
than simple mechanics and kinesthetics

and even the how
doesn't approach
the why

roads

with thanks and apologies to Mr. Robert Frost

one road diverges, splits, in a mountain valley
one road, two lanes, multiplies
becomes two roads, three lanes

one (two lanes) cutting a swath along the river
mirroring its size and journey
until the bridge, where
road and river switch sides
before continuing

one road, now one lane, climbing back and forth,
around and upward, until a view of the
mirrored road is afforded

before the view, pavement crumbles to gravel
the road narrows, trees encroaching,
untaming what once was wild

when the view arrives, surprised by visitors
the mirrored road is distant
and the sun much nearer

...

one road becomes two, diverging in the valley;
I took the one toward the
mountaintop before returning
to the road more traveled