black and white

My world is black and white,
black trees jutting skyward out of white snow,
true words spoken out of pure intentions.

My world is red and yellow,
tulips side by side singing harmony,
love and fear holding hands in my heart.

My world is blue and green,
sky and fields touching in a moving line,
flying and standing,
space and connection,
death and life...

Odd

Odd, isn't it
how a warm hand
makes ice of snow?

Winter Rose

Winds blow and snow
falls, falls.
Clouds part and my heart
leaps, leaps,
when in the tree--
the barren, naked tree--
blooms a blood-red
winter rose.

Blood-red, black head
and stock-still,
the winter rose
arises,
a risen spirit.
Can you hear it sing?
Can you hear?

goodbye

The snow is falling on the day you died.
I wonder what, if anything is in your mind now or if
you are at all.
It is cold.
Your body is cold.
My heart is cold,
the earth is cold.
But the fire burns,
and if I sit near enough,
perhaps my heart will
stir again.

When it's not enough

When sleep cannot provide the rest you need
when tears don't bring relief
when struggling gets you nowhere
and faith brings no belief

when roads lead everywhere but home
when home itself is dark
look up into the big night sky
and cry up to the stars

no little dipper pouring grace
no portion measured out
keep looking for the one that holds
more mercy than you've doubt

Words are never

No mater how well-intentioned,
well-defined,
well-planned or heart-felt,
words are never-
enough