sabbath

i play my best
at old, creaky
church pianos.

chipped keys
with hymnals
scattering old bulletins
and the faded, crumbling edges of pages
all around.

where i can be alone.

not really a performance,
unless the audience is one.
and i don't have to think anymore.

just playing,
old chords
i don't have to worry have been repeated
because they have
and that's the beauty of it all.

Page one

I feel hunched. And sticky.  But mostly unsure of how I feel.  I like that he has laugh lines.

The trees are beginning to change.  I'm using this stupid seminary pen connected to someone I don't really know.  The water moves.

He was engaged once.  We are all deeper than I realize.  The sky is so beautifully blue.  I ache.

Each time I feel I have a breakthrough, I must remember these things take more than days. Years.

I can feel the concrete up my spine.  When I looked for the cricket, I found a wandering, wriggling worm.

Slowly I am being pieced together.  Peace, calmly.  All for the lavender in the sky.  I'm gathering what is interesting, and only now I'm realizing its because I want you to see.

Credo

God is like the sound my shoes make when I am walking alone.
God is nothing like the overused words of grace and love,
unless to you they are as worn and comfortable as an old sweater.
God is a whispered 'good morning'
God is nearer than all of that, hidden in the wood of rafters
in the pulse I find in my wrist,
God is all that keeps me alive.

Persistence beyond measure.