I’d rather be cautious

But to miss a bit of art

I don’t know

She was at the ocean

And saw a crag

And called a boy

She didn’t know very well

To lower himself into it

To capture a photo

And it was a beautiful picture

His eyes, the same ocean blue

And his frail form, so weak

A vulnerability spoke loud

And it was great art

But my mind, oh it raced

That same mind of mine

That won’t let my children

Sleep with necklaces

Or worries that the light switch

Is too close to the shower

Or catastrophizes

That every sky is falling

That same mind of mine

Would never, could never

Ask that boy to enter that crag

Cause, what if a wave

And what if a shift

And what if a way in

Can’t insure a way out

I just can’t sign my name

To that kind of art

And I wonder

If that’s ok

The heater didn’t work

In that old beater

So ice would grow

And I used my hand

To wipe the window

And it was Christmas

And I was alone

Actually

But I loved you enough

Disproportionately

But it was fine

And the roads were icy

And you, so you said,

Couldn’t really leave

Until all the work was done

So I waited and bundled up

And was really ok

Really really ok

That it was just me

Taking care of you

Vulnerable and exposed

And brave and fully aware

That you didn’t have

The capacity to love me back

And it was a great night

One of my favorites

It was the night I knew

That I couldn’t count on you

Like you could count on me

It was the cold night

When I decided

It is good and ok to care

Without any assurance

That you will be cared for

Save the Lord

On Clark Street there’s an iron tree

Laying flat on a garage door

It’s a beautiful thing

And I will not regret either

Sing with my all

At that concert

Every bent leg

And brave note

Landed like a bird

Sitting right up

On top of a wire

No reaching, just nailed it

And that too

Is a beautiful thing

I’ve never been one to mourn

No, not really, not to truly mourn

I’ve known the sorrow

Of a dear one’s death, sure

But to be true, only so far

For there’s a coward’s gate I close

So as to be the shepherd and eulogizer

For don’t we all agree that a wake

Can’t be led by a weepy mess of a man?

Which is a brilliant excuse for me.

Allowing me to never go alone

To the fullness of mourning.

And I’ve known the mourn

Of my soul laid bear

Illuminated and true,

Seen dark as it is

Without anything redemptive

Save the save of a Savior.

Yes, I’ve felt it

at least a couple of times

As fully as I’ve been able

Without closing it off

So I would be right to say

That I’ve indeed known

A couple shades of mourning

I’ve lost and I’ve been broken, sure.

But merely like a fisherman

Who has sat by the shore

And cast into the waves

Only once or twice

Without the thrill

Of a really good bite or surrender

I’ve got miles and miles

Of mourning to muster

Before happy am I

Or blessed am I

Or comforted am I

Because my proud mind

Knows only

What any proud mind can know

And I want to

Need to,

Still know

What really happened on the cross

And I have to grasp

For I’m sure that I haven’t grasped

What death comes from sin.

Cause I know that death comes

But I think I still need

To be horrified by death’s scope

Not to experience more of it

For I’ve tasted enough of that black,

But to get my mind around

What I have done

To participate already

In the attack of God’s great Name.

I don’t want to wallow in my depravity

But I do want to be broken

And truly sorry

And fully repentant

Farther than I’ve allowed myself to go

Cause as sorry as I am

And as repentant as I have been

And I have been as much as I know how there’s still a lot of standing tall

In my stride

And that

For no good reason

I still find the nerve

To be proud from time to time.

I’ve never

As of yet

Been privy

To the full exposure and knowledge

Of that which I should,

In all truth

Be mourning.

In the slightest part

Sure,

As before

But that gate

I suppose

I pull shut

And that needs to stop

Unknowingly

I’ve prematurely

dried my eyes at every turn.

And declared an end to sorrow

too soon

It’s simply not finished.

The promise is still ahead

So a request, Lord

Help me mourn.

Allow me

Flicks in the sticks

Movies on the flat

Continuous aesthetic

Buildings flow

Art is access to culture

Portland named on a coin flip

Not a threat but a curiosity.

Picture

I’ve never seen an elk

Unimpressed

with what

we used

to think

miraculous

Read new voices

Study them

Underline them

As I do

And dance on their faces

With your fingers

Like the blind

Cause a kindness

Is likely in the new

And that brook is cool

And refreshing

No one can turn away

That relief

On a summer day

So tally behind

That newcomer

There on the corner

Mornings were made

For meeting

Brush off the fear

Care not about

Any old self

Who can’t be bothered

With others

We’ve unpacked those boxes

We’ve realized

There is no ministry

Without people

So the space between us

Is as pointless as a rerun

Of a cancelled show

Gone as it should be

We all live in a watershed

And we’re marked

Tapped as change agents

Transitional generation, we

Not set as before

Not set as will be

But readers of the trouble

The world’s A to Z

‘Cause somebody’s trouble

Sounded a horn

And some people’s story

Plateaued with wrong

So we excavators descend

And do and dig until

The top soil of ugly

Reveals a doughy underneath

Of “why is there no hope”

And “where can we find peace”

And the scuttlebutt happens

Happens necessarily

And inches out a nice new terrain

Of a new new day, happily

Proof that we may not need said

We all live in a watershed

He, a boy, like a poem

With line after line

Yet no bridge

Yet no channel

Yet no link

So all, everyone of us

Must read between

And gaze in-between

The frenzy

And ride the riddle

Of the bouncing boy

Who’s loud with odd

But He’ll kill himself

If you treat him so

Who’s probably promising

Just find him quickly

A strange stew of a day

When as a young boy

A catfish was laid

On a park bench

By the sea

And it was mammoth

And breathing heavily

I did not know

They stayed alive

For so long

So I waited

Decided to be there

For the fish

With the fish

As a last friend

But it took so long

I grew bored of it

Even as clouds

Grew dark in its big eyes

I thought, “Won’t you just die?”

I needed to move on

From respect to boredom

I inched away

It breathed too long

It would have to die alone

I’m not the boy who stays

While you tarry