I chose the yellowed white pearls your hands crafted as a gift
your art, my memory forever entwined.
Now on the morning drive west
the pink gold sun
rising slow behind me
this gift says goodbyes to me.
Your death was from my art undone.
I am sorry.
There is more care than orders scripted or procedures done
more than the fatigue of so much hurt.
I chose the yellowed white pearls
in memory awakened to a daily becoming
not fading
burning off the haze of dawn.
I woke to rolling thunder, exploding heat
clouds exhausted in felled surrender
and at my feet the ground gave way
in one deep breath a thousand sighs
the miracle I know as summer rain.
church is not a go to place
but a space
where you are off stage
being
the beauty of creation
celebrating
home
In the cycle of death
beyond time and space
a light
boldly sings
an essence of forever being
and my soul remembers why I am.
She did not match the data presented
in hospital speak to a crowd of learners.
It was not so much a lie
as it was a revealing – a tale.
The well and the ill are stories
told from all sides of a hospital bed
in space and time
not captured in code and computer screens.
So let the record so reflect
the hurt and the heart of
hands reaching
and healing
beyond the numbering of days.
Dreams and hopes light the path for tomorrow,
not rushing what can be done to win every now.
Time is never managed
but lived in random synchrony within a moment’s notice.
Let Light
and Breath
and Love
find my soul ready.
