the beginning of time ~

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nearenough

let me love you
while I can –
while my hands
can decipher
the map of your soul
the breadth
of your journey
merging with mine
for a moment
untested –
the beginning
of time

let me love you
while I can –
while these bones
can remember
the fusion of wills
fingers weaving
with fingers
toes to curl
forgive me this –
the beginning of all
I’d forgotten
to miss

. . .

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all that is certain ~

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holythis

it seems a day
or maybe more –
since the aching
of darkness
remembered to light
since the morning
came softly
in search of a reason
a place to keep memories –
a broken down gate
sits at the parting
where all is forgotten
but the sweet velvet brush
of heaven on skin
a whispering promise
of silent surrender –
of all that is certain
given whole
to the night

. . .

souvenirs ~

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breath

do I need a reminder
of places I’ve wandered
above a blue canyon or a babbling stream
would I barter permission
though fated in passing
to remind me of wonder
the color of dreams

what good would it do me
to garner a ticket
for a ship left from port
such a long time ago
to sail on a journey
beyond every sunset
to touch on the memory
of pleasures I’ve known

were once souvenirs
beholding to treasure
of moments twice breathed
into life – into truth
would I be any richer
with a picture of heaven
than the memory of wings
beating soft on the roof

the book of my seasons
sits low on the mantle
pressed by my soul
into beauty I’ve touched
near as a lifetime –
the echo of always
knows no remembrance
would compare then to love

. . .

eternal ~

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memory of touching

beyond the prayer
from which you came
a flicker ~
then a burning flame
beyond the silent struggle
to begin
light was sure
held within
this mystery of breath
eternal as a moment born
ten thousand deaths
as whispers
on an ancient wind
to carry us beyond
the dream
we were ~
the star once wished
upon

. . .

last wednesday ~

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eternal

Last Wednesday……not that long ago.

Last Wednesday, I received a call from my ex-sister-in-law. In a matter of just a few days, her husband had fallen, been admitted to ICU, been diagnosed with a failing liver, been given the prognosis that he would not recover, and been surrendered to the loving hands of hospice.

Friday was a long day but yesterday longer, and this morning, at the ripe age of sixty, he passed away.

I’ve had colds last longer than the time it took for a page to turn, and a new chapter to begin for his wife and his daughter who is expecting her first child – his first grandchild.

I reminded my friend numerous times over the last few of just how precious this time is, even at its absolute worst – it is a treasure that some never have and would give up everything in order to know.

It’s a last chance to say everything that matters, to hear everything that matters. To grieve, to heal, to gather…..

Her faith is strong.

I am reminded (again) that (as a rule) we do not have the luxury of keeping our own clock, and like it or not, eventually our days will be done. We know not when, nor would we wish to.

As hard as this time already, I believe it is the moving on that wears the harshest. I imagined her returning home today and opening the fridge on a leftover salad from last week, the remnants of an ice tea not finished, socks in the dryer, shoes beside the door, carkeys on a kitchen counter. It is that which closes around us – the resumption of a life made smaller.

Yet, even in the remembering, we are blessed….. ❤

let me know
when life is come
and started new
without
the warmth that was
a kiss that knew
the way to ease
my longing

. . .

Charles Michael Lundquist
12/17/1957 – 02/12/2018

circle me round ~

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white_moth_by_motrav-d30aeug

circle me round
to infinite graces
guard me to strength
come heavy
the sun

trace with these hands
the lock –
and the leper
see with your eyes
make whole
as to one

I knew from the knowing
was certain
to find –
my ways
through the fields
yesterday

held for a moment
in forests of green –
burned with a light
was your own
I embrace

. . .

for us ~

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grace

what story
left unwritten
haunts the tender hours
the crawl
that makes her bed
beneath my own
what innocence becoming
was the place
I first believed
love would save –
love for us
atoned

what blessing
goes unnoticed
adorned to dusty shelves
wrapped in sleeves of linen
tied in bows
shades –
the same as kisses
warmed beneath the dawn
as winter falls
silent in the snow

. . .