blue-storm-encounters: morning

2015-06-19

The Pilgrim's Prayer

. . .

Thou wilst sweeten my final bitterness,

Thou wilst lighten my final weariness,

Thou wilst watch over my dreams,

Thou wilst wipe away my tears.

Every morning wilst Thou us again

the torch of light and joy

and Thou wilst exchange the dead hours

I bring thee for a new and living morning. Amen.

from Hymn, The Pilgrim's Prayer

Sunrise at O Cebreiro, Galicia : June 2nd, 2015

2014-03-12

morning light peels off the doorframe

spills inside the promise of being here, now, another day

a bowl of holiness splashed on the marbled floor, for me

to walk across this door on consecrated sky-grounds, barefoot

like newly baptized step into the world. i am grateful

for what it was and what is not

and for what i trust, tomorrow holds.

2013-07-15

tattered wings

in the tattered wings

of a coconut tree

the wind rages delirious

chatters like the mad rain
day and night night and day
dry tears of unfathomable pain
one thousand blades

prying off a soul
from a frail man's body

pain pain pain
more than sinew and bone can bear
taut twanging ball of nerves
cutting wrenching tearing
squeezing thirsty cupful
teardrops of blood-
dew to appease tomorrow's dawn

heaven birthing an angel
amid Earth's mourning

but why so violent? oh God, why
s o v i o l e n t ?

(it was never suppose to be this way)

2013-04-17

palm leaves

isn't it so, that at dawn
a young sun bursts in the leaves

of the windswept coconut trees. shreds them
to slender barbs of feathers. the tender breeze
nestles between to keep the palms in balance

amidst the blustery storm near the shore
of my sleepless sea. and isn't it so, that
the same breeze wraps around my bare
skin now as i cast my bread upon the waters
long to return home. your arms to draw me near

after the storm quiets the way i have always
imagined - the wind in my spread wings
loving you fiercely
more than ever.

a young sun rising.
rustling in the leaves.

2013-03-01

footprints at dawn

i hasten to the seaside

search for your footprints at dawn
the sand swept even by the night wind
i rake with my bare foot to uncover

a trace of you, beloved

but none in the last
one hundred years of solitude
(as Marquez perhaps would say)

another sun sets ablaze
parts the rue sea above the clouds
i glide my palm over the satin grains

draw wings of an angel instead
to cross this nebulous
lifespan between

which in inter-galactic terms
may very well mean "tomorrow"
i could flood in your arms (i wish)
be at your fingertips, no?

until then: i imagine