Sunday, December 01, 2019


this morning:

The house is asleep
their brains whirring with something different
than the things that have captured mine
for these hours hence
while the sun was rising
the cold air was chilling me
outside of the blankets
where the others yet slumber warm
twisting and turning
pulling elbows over their faces to
avoid the light in their eyes

My dreams have come and went
and left their marks upon me
to come out as words upon paper
images strange and beautiful
that not many will ever understand as I do
my soul in dreaming tries to figure out
who it is in the night
who it is in always
by telling itself stories
that are powerful and slip away too soon

It is up to me to catch them
like fish in a bowl
and try to see their bones
without taking the life from them

The last time, before this morning, that I had been in a church was 2004.  It was still on a card.  I went this morning, and yes, I cried.  I always cry.  But they respected when I said I wanted to listen, and to hold myself together, and see if there was something for me to hear there.  And I might go back again, if I can keep up some bravery, to continue to see if there is something to hear there.   I went to the place with the door and window that I had thought about for years, always thought was pretty, wondered what it was like... but not because someone told me to go there or it was a tradition or... it just seemed like an honest curious choice to see.  I looked at their website and it was welcoming, said anyone could come, and said when.  That was enough.

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