We must do
than we did before,
devote our attention to
each word or glimmer
of sadness and of shame,
of sweetness and of fury,
and to all the holy voices.
Time to hold each stone
in our bare hands –
turn it over and over,
smell it, taste it
and feel the shape of it,
expose our skin to
the air of early morning,
let our fingers trace
of the small hand
that walks beside us.
in the boldness of a blue sky
and in the frost that gathers
at the edges of November
grass, where a deer,
still as the Buddha,
sits with eyes wide open
even as the season
turns to cold.
When the dust gathers,
sweep the floor,
when the soil dries,
water the plants,
when mouths are hungry,
bake the bread,
when fear rises up,
tuck in the children,
when you need to be heard,
when you need to know,
ask the question,
when it gets dirty,
wash the dishes,
when it gets dark,
throw back the curtains,
when nighttime falls,
greet the day,
if you cannot comprehend,
speak only the truth,
if the door closes,
open your palms,
if you lose your way,
walk the path,
if it is love you seek,
be the love.
and brother, it is now high
time to be the light.
Give your children love
for breakfast, tell them their sweet
hearts are mighty swords.
Only the softest
will cut through the hatred, and
the sun, it will rise.
I would like to invite you into every place
I knew once
as a child, like songs, with lyrics too,
that lived inside
the nighttime chirp of crickets, or to stand at the edge
of the world,
our feet stained orange from sunset and the scales
we’d walk beneath the constellations
draw them on our pillows so that our first two
could sleep beneath. I want to find the secret
between the stones, and take you there.
is partway open, an invitation,
The soft white of a
reflection is, at last, what
allowed me to see.
Amidst the chaos
there is only one setting –
turn love up to high.
Two long hours on the side of the road,
waiting for the man who will help me get towed,
the sun is shining through the windowpane,
I guess it’s high time to write a song.
If you were here, you’d be changing my tire,
and you’d be gritting your teeth like a real live wire,
instead I’m here laying down these words yet again,
and the towing man is coming along.
The road is long and the road is hazy,
and the trucks driving by are getting closer than crazy,
their big engines rattle in the back of my brain,
and the afternoon is gathering on.
And hey wait a minute there’s gold in the trees,
and the wide open windows spill a warm little breeze,
the way the clouds are gathering, it reminds me of rain.
They say the tow truck is ambling along.
Supposed to be somewhere, supposed to be there on time,
but now I’m killing hours on this long white line.
If I had to do it over I might do it again –
it’s the way you look at something makes it wrong.
So next time you’re sitting on the side of the road,
do something nice with your mind while you waits to get towed.
If you had to do it over you might do it again –
when you’re feeling right, it can’t be so wrong.