Communion


 Dust grey streets wander, lurching over the hunched-up dreams.
A stage of my own, with parts and strings and adoration!
Me, It’s Me! Select Me!
     It will be enough I swear it will!

Around the corner from the bulb-lit marques
Brick walls stand up, triple storied, stenciled with memories,
Wiping away the dreams.
Off they roll, scrabbling muddy bits and pieces in their wake. 

Come with me into the other places
Down inside the heart of the matter
Betting with a different set of compositions
Bone real and iced with yellow
Watered with sacred shadows
Threaded with translucent possibilities

Dusty finger prints playing with pieces of divinity
Soaked in the grace of letting be
Our tunes braided in a single melody,
Only the piper hears the differences.




Comments

Anonymous said…
tears… "Soaked in the grace of letting be"…

beautiful!
LInda Jo said…
Yes, the second part of this poem is drenched!
love...

Popular posts from this blog

Tulip Hunting In Central Park