Hour Twenty-four: Hoped For

Is that bright light bursting through the dark forest

The light I prayed for to lead me out of my morass


Is it the light at the end of a dark tunnel,

The proverbial train rushing to end my suffering forever


Are its beams burning down the darkness

Leaving me trapped inside to be consumed by

Smoke and flames


Are they a stairway to the light source

A way out and a way to enter



Do I get to choose or have I

Been chosen

Hour Twenty-three: Alien Watch

We watched the alien aircraft

Watched them hovering above our world

Watched to see if we were welcoming

New friends who would walk

With us discovering our way

Together or

Would we welcome invading monsters

Coming to take, not give


They landed on the Shifting Sea

Where we sailed in my childhood

Digging beneath to gather the last

Coula that burrowed there and the last

Priri that bloomed


Did they know we’d killed our world

and were waiting for it to die?

Were they deities come to punish us

For our careless care what was given?

Or were they our

Salvation, shatra of legends

Who would show us how to make our world

Live again?


Jala held a handful of color

To shower them in gratitude

Berth hid the weapon inside

Close at hand, until we could

Know what awaited us


We watched

Hour Twenty-two: Planting a Pizza Garden

They started with seedlings:

Tomatoes, onions, basil, oregano

As these were growing

They placed two hula hoops

In the sunniest spot on the raised bed

And drew lines for each sprout

They watered and weeded and waited

For the harvest

So they could savor a pizza

Crafted with their labor

Produce from their garden


Hour Twenty-one: Running from Silence

Running her mouth off

Again, Chele knew compulsion

Drove her to fill the silence for

Empty silence would swallow her thoughts

Forcing her to savor the bitter taste of

Soured love and confront her dread of



Preferring to stay stagnant in

Love gone wrong

Choosing to rot in a killing place,

Chele talked of nothing so she could

Unhear silence urging her to start


Hour Twenty: Sacred Rites

Never fond of uniformity and routine —

Even the rites I keep

Are not routine —

My only rituals are sacred ones:


The weekly journey to sanctuary

Never the same way

Never the same mode

Never the same purpose

Except keeping the faith

And assuring justice is served

Washed in the Spirit,

the Name, and

the divine Presence


My body clock tuned to 3:30

without an alarm

for the ritual of

Getting up to pee and drink water

Grabbing my laptop

To keep faith with my golden time

My writing time

Bathed in divine enlightenment

Awashed in words

Before the holy sunrise

Hour Eighteen: Blackbirds as Omens

I’m confused

Which one is you:

The wide-eyed bird

Perched on wire

Like a soldier

Guarding his territory?

The bird taking off

In terror

Turning his back on

Possibility and commitment?

Which one is me:

The petrified bird

Clinging to certainty

The steady and solid

The unchanged?

The bird in flight

Venturing away


Seeking the uncharted

The infinite?

Hour Sixteen: Road Map to Me

Turn left as soon as you can

Look for the broken caution sign

Tossed aside by the side of the road

When you reach the defaced stop sign

Keep going until you see

The traffic light

Hanging precariously

Stuck on red

Ignore it and

Ease on across looking both ways

When you arrive you’ll find

A doorway without a welcome mat

For stomping off the mud and dust

of what is right

Enter the house leaning left

Stop when you hear my rapier wit

welcoming you

carefully approach until I sheathe my weapons

Be at home then in this space

I’ve made my own.

Hour Fifteen: How she sees me

There she goes again

Taking center stage

Ignoring the guidelines

For respectful conversations

She didn’t raise her hand like I did

She interrupted again

She must think she knows

More than anyone else here

I bet she thinks I’m stupid

“No. I have nothing to say.”

There she goes again

Not letting anybody else


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