(outside my window polar
tempest you beat
against the pane
while i in comfort
and coze need only to
shift layers of
blankets to insulate
against the bitter
night chill)
i drift off loving the howl
that shakes the holding-on dead leaves free
that unearths roots not too-deeply rooted
that karate-chop pummels whole limbs from trunks
oh my heart do not hide safe when
the wild wind beckons
meet its power
be uprooted and
blown naked
welcoming newness as
it is released
i slide my palm
(unaware but not
disinterested)
into the slit of
threadbare denim
over a smooth
angle of hipbone
toward the deep
corner of pocket
where you (a foreign
coin gathering
my heat) nestle
my fingers seek
your contour and
edges (my heart
needs refuge far
away from here)
i settle and
retract my hand
but you (unsettled)
you flee and
flip through the
air
(no matter how familiar
the edges i never can
guess which side will
land upright to the sky)
heads or tails is
anyones guess
the drama of bearing
such a gift as joy is first
when it sprung from my heart
and out of my lips i could
not believe it was true
then i realized that the
gift was not in the holding of
joy in my hands but in
the emptying of those hands of
things that drown out joy
(things that prevent joy from
penetrating this intensity of
life i have been living)
joy comes from the remembrance of
past goodness surviving and made
true made right made whole even if
it still seems broken on the outside
to those who dont really know
what they are looking at
joy is learning to look
deep into the sense of peace and
belonging that only comes with
healing that is according to the
truth and peace that surpasses
understanding
when joy is sparked the gift
is in the taking off of
the mask so that it will
flow through me and to you
and to whomever else is longing
for it too
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