one of those

it is so sweet

to have a

mandy

or a linda

in your life –

to glimpse

them loving a work

as if it were their

own

and to wonder

how it is

they do not

know:

they are poem

itself –

children of that great tribe

whose very way of

life

is the planting of

those seeds of

mercy

and things that stir the

soul within.

the writer - merely a wanderer,

meandering down rows

pulling off great handfuls

of rich, low growing

fruit

and dropping it into the basket

of written word,

that others too

may taste.

about a flood

my heart so heavy

and yet

too shallow, still…

with its bricks of rue

mortared with self.

such need for a deeper

grief

and true redemption.

come fill me with your perfect

sorrow

one that

does not despair

as it flys downward

into the very

depths

of

loss

with that kernel

of our future

Glory

grasped

in it’s

tiny

determined

fist.

waters

laughter bursts out in little ripples

through this warm clear

night

quickly

silenced

by the heaviness

of the

dark water

on our streets

in our homes

rising up to claim

illusions of

security,

rest

even life

from within our

midst

with weighted feet

we walk damp

pavement

our sorrow and our love

for this city

muddied and

overflowing

like the waters

from the cumberland

that rise,

and rise

again.