Through a Glass Darkly

happybird.jpg

When you look through my window, what do you see?

Does your own reflection distort,

distract from my own?

Or do those dark eyes

perceive my frantic efforts to achieve meaning,

see through the fragile skin

to bones as stark as grave?

Can you see past the crumbs,

past the messiness of life in the living,

to the heart beating love

and fear

and sons and daughters,

meetings and givings,

turmoil and rest?

And I wonder –

Have you mastered

the mystery of your own survival,

do you know where

hope hides

when the discomfort of the stretch

comes?

Can you tell tales

to keep nightmares away

during unending Arabian nights?

Do you wonder

about me,

the way I wonder

about you?

Perhaps

this glass between us

distorts how I see you,

how you perceive me.

Perhaps

there is only

this film of silica

keeping us

from

knowing the other.

If this glass were cut,

would we bleed

together?

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Soul Runs Empty

empty bird feeder

Soul runs empty,

pants for bread,

craves attachment,

must be fed;

convention’s trough

won’t satisfy –

O Christmas Son,

will you supply?

Born and laid

in manger hay,

feed our souls

this Christmas Day.

*

For more on this topic, visit  Growing With God in my Garden

Questions…

Do you grow in colonies by choice or chance?

Do you ever dream of solo dance,

Or does contentment come in pairs?

Does solitude catch you unawares?

Do partnerships come easily?

Does daily interaction feasibly

Find you in a happy state?

What is your species’ divorce rate?

Do you compete, or try to compare?

Answer my questions, if you dare…

Peony of the Garden

Peony of the garden, of what do you think?

Do your thoughts turn to candy floss dipped in palest pink?

Do you meditate deeply, or do your thoughts flit?

Does your brain enjoy conundrums, or does only foolish fit?

Peony of the garden, of what do you dream?

Does your heart contain fairy tales of knight and castle theme?

Or do you simply wish to soak , lazy in the sun?

Do you yearn for usefulness, or is your purpose fun?

Peony of the garden, of what do you hope?

Do you have contentment, or is your goal to cope?

Do you see a higher call, a purpose for your days?

Or do you choose to simply bloom, and go out with a blaze?

Fragility

You cling to branch

as though it were entirely natural,

this blooming.

Do you know your lifespan?

Do you lie awake at night

in terror of what the morrow may bring?

Does the thought of a strong North wind

make you quake in your spring-boots?

Does the invasion of bee and bird not taunt and sicken you?

I see your fragility,

and it breaks me.

But you nod and smile

and bloom

and give all in the giving

and I am undone,

knowing which of our fragilities

is the more broken…