my latest yummy.

It’s never been that quiet, I’ve found.

It’s never that quiet that I think-

that specific quietness that I want so very much I could scream

if I could find it afterwards.

But even this morning, lying on the rug-

I heard my own ears. The buffeting sharpness

that is the constant ring inside my canals;

the tiny hairs in there being tussled by air flow.

Even then, it remains the same as it’s always been:

almost there.

And, it really isn’t comforting. I’d rather

hear the peepers, or the tree frogs latching on the porch door

with a slap; or the high winds

over me being whipped around.

just the echo of the last sound I heard- that rumble that

my drum

can’t get rid of.

Daniel broke the king's decree,
Peter stepped from the ship to the sea
there was hope for Job like a cut down tree,
I hope that there's such hope for me.

dust be on my mind's conceptions
and anything I thought I knew
each word of my lips' description,
and on all that I compare to You

[the preference of the sun was
to the south side of the farm
I planted to the north in a terra-cotta pot
blind as I'd become, I used to wonder where you are-
these days I can't find where you're not!]

mine's been a yard carefully surface tended
foxes burrowed underground
my gardening so highly self-recommended,
what could I have done but let you down?

the sun and the moon,
I want to see both worlds as One!

mine's been a vivid story, dimly remembered
and by the hundredth time it's told, halfway true
of bad behavior well engendered
what good is each good thing we think we do?

[find a friend and stay close and with a melting heart
tell them whatever you're most ashamed of-
our parents have made so many mistakes,
but may we forgive them and forgive ourselves]

the sun and the moon are my Father's eyes