Half-Burnt Logs

and we sat under the stars,
skin to skin,
eye to eye,
heart to heart -
little points of light
growing
dark and heavy
with the descending
heavens,
coming to meet
the curling smoke
spiraling up
from the guts
of a sacred fire,
crying out the song
of half-burnt logs
and the tyranny
of being human.

Tears of Grace

drink my tears
with your liquid eyes,
as I drink mine,
for they are yours
as much as they are mine;
let them fall
onto our parched
wrinkled skins,
waiting to be christened
with infinite love;
let's not wash them away,
let's not wish them away,
for they have come to us
from the heavens,
they are ours to keep
in the silent folds of our heart,
in the soft lashes of our eyes
that kiss them awake
with every blink,
in the cloth that soaks them
and patiently gathers
their fragrant longing
to meet ourselves
with a smile,
returning everything with love,
touching each others' hearts,
as we follow our destinies
untouched, untarnished,
to be the messy, glorious humans
that we each are.

Circle of Life

and a mother looked on
with soulful eyes
at her newborn calf -
now a limp carcass,
torn and devoured
by impatient claws
and floundering teeth;
he was just a seed
she carried for a while;
a seed with a story
and a life of his own,
in this unfathomable,
self-nourishing,
circle of life.

Sandpaper

suffering
is grist for the mill,
a sloughing off
of unseen atoms
stuck to the skins
over skins
of an ancient piece
of wood,
sanded
to reveal
the grains -
the source,
the lifeline,
and the journey
home.

A Thousand Names for Death

When the Hand of God touches down
to kiss the trembling earth,
a thousand voices scream out loud
to bring heaven down to earth;
Pain, agony, fear and loss,
disheveled cloches of Death,
how do I disrobe myself
and meet you with joy instead?
A body trapped beneath the rubble,
or washed away in a flash,
a newborn struggling with tubes and stents,
a wife languishing for her spouse;
a tree trembling as it loses a leaf,
a dog licking its pup - stillborn,
a young girl writhing with broken bones and heart,
done to death by a beast in human form,
an old man waiting alone, aghast,
at the slow decay of his self,
an old woman hobbling from door to door,
to seek the love she lost and forgot instead;
Oh! How many names do you own dear Death?
which one shall I invoke?
or should I just call you silently,
and embrace you, my friend of old?
For it does not matter
which robe you wear,
or how you come to take
each life that walks this planet Earth,
a thousand names for you at stake.

Suffering

I sit
with suffering
yours and mine -
a shrivelled up raisin
that holds within,
the essence of Life.