boiler

that's all it takes

your boiler to break

or some funny noise

to come out of your

car

for you to question

everything

the single life

the career

the waiting for just the right

man

suddenly

the panic of being

alone

and the burden of fixing

broken things

takes you down

the swift and severe

riptide

under the

seeming calm

of a woman on her

own

and you find yourself

glancing through

the church directory

wondering

did i overlook

anyone?

someone i should

really and

truly

reconsider?

missing jude

how can the memory

of those 2-inch chubby

wrists

seem to lodge

itself

 in my throat

like a knot of

unwept silver?

i remember the

weight

of his desire to

see everything

from the vantage point of my

arms

and how his

expression

changing direction

and force

like a wandering summer

breeze

seemed to carry my heart

like a leaf.

whenever he

smiled

i could see the whole earth

under my feet

i was so high.

and when he cried

i felt the

air grow cold

and still

i lay,

low and heavy

waiting for the

next eddy

to lift me up

again.

road trip

st louis is to me…

laughter in the back seat of a maroon miracle car

avocado’s & blue chips in transit

two clear voices singing

harmony

changing hotel rooms

again

and again

and

again.

dark rain

stormy winds

crawling into tubes

tunnels

laughter and

tornado warnings

sculptures

over my head

strange and

heavy-set

in lush green grass

a frisbee

union station

a floor marbled with light

my quarter losing the race to

a dime

joy in the present

eating this dinner

to the sounds of a crowd

gathered around

for a show about fudge

that trio of balloons

travelling down the busy street

as though it had every right

of a fully-registered vehicle

the bright clock

and the feel of a storm

as we waited for our ride

the walk to the Arch

straight and wide enough for four

through a tunnel of trees

waving their lacy leaves in flurries

against a dark peach ceiling of sky

and then

the Arch;

taller than i could feel

silver and

terrible

in beauty

in height

in simplicity

running to catch up with

my friends

my heart unsettled

by that infinite touch of hard silver

the walk back

arm in arm

and then

camaraderie

exercising in our

pajama’s

pharaoh & the psalms

a sleeping girl

and

rest.

riding

always riding

and always

the Arch

now forever a part of me,

altering everything

just like

the laughter

of the

girl

frisbee & grace in the park

the silent sound of the glowing green disc coming to rest in your hand
your voice muffled in the darkness and deep grass between us
the story of grace in a desperate full out run - grasping
to bridge the failure -
the lack in me...
and the simple act of watching
without shame
so as to accept the gift
of someone trying so very
hard
to connect...
just for this; that my weakest efforts
would end in
joy.
oh this is grace.
i throw with all the best
intentions
towards my God,
the desire to connect...
and as it spirals
out of control,
exposing the great "i can't"
i'm tempted to look away
from the certain foolish end
of my greatest effort.
but He,
runs with the speed of  the light He made,
holding nothing back
as He reaches out...
and
catches it.

nashville

the city skyline on my left is so fierce

she catches my breath and i try not to hit the car in front of me

beautiful

mesmerized in the sunset reflected off her glass robed

skyscraping contours

i wonder if this is what it feels like

for a man to see a beautiful woman across the room

so distant – unapproachable –

but i am not a stranger to this city,

more like a man who glimpses

a gorgeous woman

who happen to be his wife

through a crowd

he too, must feel the ache

a strange awe

at how others must perceive

this woman

but he knows

what it is, to wander through her alleyways

he knows the smell of the breeze on her side streets

and where the sun hits the busy corners

how that feels on his skin

the sounds of the lunch crowd

dodging tourists in cowboy boots -

how kind and tender she can be

and on a stormy day, how cruel.

billy collins inspires me

I fall for pieces of them

but never the whole

Brandon's coy smirk...

David's pointed questions,

The boy whose name I don't even

remember;

his brown eyes - the way they

smiled at me.

 

Even the awkward ones -

Kenneth and his ridiculous

salsa-fighting moves

that made me laugh out loud

as he spun me, without grace, around the room...

Ronald's impulsive adoration

of me

whenever I enter a room he is in.

 

The married ones too;

The way they love their wives

so well,

and make them beautiful

with their love -

When those men turn and

smile with familial affection at

me

I become some strange mix 

shy and bold;

happy to be one of the

lesser ladies in their life.

Less is still so much

when men know how to love

like that.

They know how to love

one whole woman...

but that is a mystery to me,

because I am still falling

for pieces.