THE WINDOW AT JAIMIE’S

Just the window
is enough for him,
for his heart
that holds heavy
and light winds.
He washed the windows
till they showed
the construction of the world
that waits for him,
with its holy places
prepared to hold him
in comfort and fondness,
the way a wind
holds the yellow leaves
just now sailing past
the window
made in wonderland.

ON THE PRAIRIE

On the lonesome prairie
he prayed to every star
and silent hilltop. All his words
were like winds across the grass,
or the giving of gifts
from night’s friendly hands.
He had lost so much
in his old life,
but fires still burned
in his bright mind,
and summer seemed
to be bursting inside him.
Holiness was everywhere,
he knew,
and all his sorrows
had helped his life
look up and out
where winds wandered
without end.

WHEN HE WAS SAD

He rode his horse
beside streams and across valleys
of flowers that seemed to flow forever.
His horse was a helpful friend,
following the stars and sunshine
as they showed the way.
It wouldn’t be forever,
he knew, just till the time
when something would awaken
like a windy morning.
It would just be until
tired and worn out sorrow
said hello to happiness
and then disappeared.
It would happen.
It always did.
So he let his horse
hold him high
among the breezes and
brightness that is life.

WHAT TO DO

He often wonders what to do,

whether to walk from one window to another,

or take up a book

that breaks open as soon as he touches it,

or bend his firm feelings

backwards and forwards for flexibility.

He knows the stars don’t struggle

in deciding whether to shine or not,

nor does his heart have trouble

choosing how to push the boats

of his blood inside his body.

Still, it’s not easy for him.

Should he help his car

cruise out to the beach,

or should he show himself

the sunlight on the lettuce

in his backyard garden?

PLAIN OLD FEAR

It was plain old fear.

It had followed me for years,

and yet I had never seen it

as it really is,

but yesterday it yelled

in pain

as it prepared to die.

It didn’t actually die,

but simply disappeared

like vanishing haze,

or a wordless summer evening.

It was dressed in scraps,

its bones were twisted,

its face was like dusk

as it disappeared

among the limitless stars.

LEANING

Lean on me,

her hand said to her chin.

So she did,

while the wind outside

leaned against the houses

and the houses leaned over

to let the trees speak

and the trees leaned

with their leaves

and the leaves leaned

on each other like friends

and friends in Asia

and America leaned

into each other’s lives.   

DAREDEVIL

He’s a daredevil
when he drives to school.
He dares to do the speed limit
precisely as it’s posted.
He’s brave enough to
take his time turning corners,
to come to a total stop
at stop signs. He even smiles
and waves to strangers in crosswalks,
a gutsy act for a guy.
See if you can spot him.
He’s the slowest car
on the street, the one
with the chutzpah
to choose giving way
over getting ahead,
the one
with the daring driver.

CLOUDS

They can help

when you need a heart-filled

fall of rain, or a stretch of shady days,

or a little coolness

to care for your troubles.

They can cry with you,

and can float above you

like life preservers,

and can cover your day

like a quilt. Light

and soft like you,

they are still strong

like you.

THE WIND

The wind blew,
but not just by his house.
He knew it was blowing
in Nebraska, and near
an old broken man in Maine,
and behind the eyes of someone
whose family has forgotten her,
someone who lives in this world
like a wind herself,
a gust that goes by you
and you keep going
to the store to get groceries,
and she blows out
across a sea with no shores.
He sat with his book
and listened to the wind,
the words calling out
like lost friends.

CREATION

It starts in commonplace things,
in a glance, in a voice.
It can start as we're standing
in the supermarket
with loaves of refreshing bread
in our basket.
Hands moving stylishly
as they tie the laces on shoes
could be the beginning.
A piece of perfect toast
could start a procession of thoughts
that never stops.

ONE WINDOW

He had only one window

but it brought what he needed --

the night with its modest secrecy,

the morning making its light,

two trees standing just

as they’ve always wanted to stand.

Say he lived in paradise,

would it be any better

than his single small window

with wonders smiling in

at him?