What feathers hold aloft the birds
That sing among the trees at night,
And yet allow the branches to fall
Downward to eternity?

The brittle bones of nature’s army,
Withering from force of blight,
Though strong enough to carry forth
Those visitors who shake the leaves,

And gather choirs long forgotten,
Set upon a diff’rent path
That leads to rivers flowing far beyond
The reach of conscious fear

To inlets and to fields aflame with
Mother Nature’s righteous wrath,
To skies whose clouds have burned away
And left the journey forward clear.


If every day was like Christmas

If every day was like Christmas,
I’d jump into the sea.
I’d sink down through the deep dark depths
‘Til there was nothing left of me.

I’d let my spirit float away
Beyond the great, yawning divide
That keeps us from eternity,
Holding us pris’nor, trapped, resigned

To endless thoughts of what’s ahead,
Rather than what we have, instead,
Because despite our weak’ning cries,
We don’t believe in God.

And while so many drop in prayer,
Prostrate themselves before the glare
Of naked sky, of empty rooms,
That simply won’t reveal the flaws

Intrinsic to such bitter kneeling,
Sad escape from depth of feeling
That might finally release
Both of us from unnat’ral laws,

Others look behind the stars,
See nothing but deserts on Mars,
And know that that should be enough
To drive us to each other’s arms.

Radiant and Undefiled

Radiant and undefiled, the arcs

Of lightning further glow,

Until the hollow, wayward night

Doth swallow up the shattered seeds

Of fallen sky—the tears of God—

That split in twain and ever flow

Away into Eternity, where

Fortune ultimately leads.

There’s little point in reaching up

To hoist ourselves among the clouds,

But fitful hearts conspire to

Sing songs of urgent memory,

And while the rigors of forethought

Decline to lift their damp’ning shrouds,

We leap until our knees dissolve

And lay us down alone to bleed.