this little light of mine
barely lends a flicker to the dark
chaos surrounding us
when statues fall and high places are flattened
i am reminded of
the fall of the work of man cannot erase
but it can erase blind
affection for subconscious altars. violent
coups never win.
i once saw lenin, bronze and huge and tall, as recent as 2013 in the middle of a communist-dilapidated ukraine village
the chill a statue can send through the heart.
and I recall
the ancient golden calf
and i wonder
how little progress we have made since Moses.
this little light doesn’t know much but
for the fact that light is the only thing
that breaks through
i stepped away
not to be contrary to the coal black pain, but rather
just for a moment not to be at all.
the rush of a stream over my toes, and
the call of cardinals, searing red.
i stepped away
my footing, shaky and weary to the bone.
what good are we
if we forget what it is
broken but alive
under the summer sun.
“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.
The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time.
On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops.
Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.”Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It
Isolation made me
yearn for all the undone
to be fixed and put right and so I
put up homes and perches
for the birds,
my own sort of tuppence tossed
out the back door where the wee-est search
for breadcrumbs. They plead
with their broken songs to be
And we, safe inside our white house watch,
noses pressed to the glass
as they jump from branch to branch.
And still they sing,
the sparrows. Maybe they know
His eye is truly on them.
“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father.”Matthew 10:29 ESV