The Breath of Windows

The bedroom curtains swell their long robes,

breathing deep breaths from their waking windows,

Whispering soft and wistful breezes,

of day and night and their fleeting secrets:

The life God placed beneath the shadows,

the conversations of birds and songs unknown,

the faithful silence of sunlight between,

hung in pale sheets among the flickering green,

then the graceful pace of dear nightfall,

lowering her veil and billowing shawl,

taking hand in a waltz unfurled so gently,

in seamless cloak and Heavenly timing.

The Lost Children

I have fallen in love so easily,

because I started half way there.

I would die for each and every one

before the fire could singe their hair.

So I died, every day,

with every spark into the darkness,

and I fell with every heart

that was swallowed into the abyss.

But yet it was a loving God

who put before me life and death.

He walked among the deep graves

and pulled me up and to his breast.

For it was He who fell and fell in love.

It was He who died for the lost,

It was He who braved the fires and pits

to spare me from knowing each cost.

The broken heart that was failing me

was the one turned to wax in His chest,

the same one that began to beat again,

igniting life in those laid to rest.

So I walk the graveyards at His side,

as the living, lit up among the dead,

and I reach down the hand that reached for me

and raise up sleeping children from their beds.

Glimpse

I caught a glimpse of forever

when I remembered you for a moment.

I saw how quickly you hovered

before you found your way into my locket.

I peeked into the hereafter

when I lost you after my thought.

We must have spoken for over an hour,

but here you are, a little snapshot.

I got a glance at forever

when I thought of you for a second.

How fragile that moment you were talking,

now a flicker barely reckoned.

I saw too much of our days after

when we're snug in photo albums.

What a silent bunch of bright funny faces

we’ll leave at the brush of their thumbs.

The Song Book and the Secret Garden

Who am I to open this book

where gently the heavenly and heart-worthy look?

Who am I to hear these ancient songs

that you sing to me so secretly all day long?

I was merely a scattered seed in the desert of days,

but in the shape of my own shadow, you made a cool resting place.

You sprinkled my heart with sonnets from the sky

and pooled a well within my belly that never runs dry.

Thank you, dear caretaker of the stray seedling,

for making this heart your flower bed, a page for the songs you sing. 

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