What if the things we say into air
never stop being there
and the stars dip low to listen
and the wind plays them across strings that only spirit sees,
just our own voices lifted hopeful,
defiant against the dull of discouraged silence;
what if the whole dry of the cracked earth is hungry for that sound,
the one your yearning bundled into words
And what if the sweet spot in our tomorrow
is hidden in the fruit of all that saying,
and gets released by pulling off the peel
with sounds so sharp with hope
that layers of “no” and “can’t” and “won’t” and “not for you”
and “who do you think you are?”
loose their bony fingers and let the fruit open,
making parched places bloom.
What if you don’t have to be smart or strong or able,
that Love looms larger than the chaotic rattle of things
and the dreams of your heart need only to be wild flung and watered
by your own faith whisperings
while Love does what only Love can do
and grows the spoken spaces
into flower and fullness and fruit.
“Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder.”
I’m so glad you come by to have a read, from time to time.
I feel like I’m sharing often my rough drafts with you,
tweaking and hovering over them sometimes months later to coax some light through.
I appreciate you being a safe space to share and explore. If you’re reading this, you are joy to me:)