I wait for You at twilight,
filled with pooled bits of knowing
that are weighted down with passion
and quieted with mourning.
Long after You’ve arrived (You arrived at Always),
I cling with darkened eyes and angry mercury tears.
I know This One Here, and should not be afraid;
but feel abandonment from generations and a mutiny of ages.
Did You feel the same in that dim garden,
tempestuous with spirits tossed?
Your mind brimming with untelling;
releasing howling desire into a thin night air which burned and sparkled at Your touch.
You threw Your body on a rock,
crying out to One You knew would close His ears to You,
and gathered such passion in Your eyes that it spilled over–
and the wind knew it, and saw it:
bits of blood flecking down onto Your holy, grief-emptied hands.


Pale paper cheek turned
dry-wrinkled from tears.
My angry will
pitted ‘gainst Yours
I come here often
I come here often.
“Everything is possible for You”
yet this cup never passes
I am weary of knowing.
Forever incomplete in the quest for understanding.
So if You would,
please take the time
unclasp my fingers,
bend my knee.
Bend my will to the curve of Your own,
so that “Not my will, but Yours be done”


As You see my
little cub face
with silken ears
and matted paw,
troubled maw;
so much seen–
(can it be unseen?)
I scratch at my wounds
and growl, as fiercely
as I can muster.
So You laugh to Yourself for a moment,
then the saddest look
comes etched across Your Big Bear face,
which with all its holy sullenness
weaves the strongest invisible cords around my
weak heart.
Then reaching out a single paw
with softest fur
and strongest claw–
You beckon, with clear brown eyes.
Out You stretch,
in You draw,
near You pull me,
into the safest, warmest shadow,
where You feed me milk
and honey
and lick my crusted wounds
till they are wonderfully clean
and I am suddenly
(over a span of time)
a Little Bear–
having become not quite exactly,
but very much
like You.


We Pharisees,
we laugh at what is different.
We, all the same.
But today, I have not come for that.
I have come to be a child.
To dip my wondering hands
in cool, red milk
slightly sticky to the touch
and sickly to my untrained heart.
I have come to be a child,
asking a thousand questions,
while burying my answered head
under a pool of calming mother’s milk.
I have come to be a child,
sweeping slow arms
in ever-widening circles,
knowing more and more
of a greater Love.
I have come to be a child,
trading whimpering anger
for a simple tub,
filled with the most extravagant Love.
You broke your Lover’s body
to leak your Lover’s blood,
and I will never understand,
yet now will never be unLoved.

The Beginning

At first I thought I saw Him
only in glimpses–
in the curve of a smile,
at the edge of a paperback book,
in the slanting afternoon sunlight.
But then I began to see Him everywhere,
slipping out for a moment around corners and busy city sidewalks,
or smiling to me while He handed me my coffee,
or turning up in a breath by my side while my eyes marveled at the colors of a forest landscape.

Where did He come from?
Who was He?
Why did He hold so much power over me already?
Was He a He at all?
I knew His name, but I did not know his Name.

The things I read about Him were
newspaper articles,
cold // black and white // still // dead
(it made Him seem Still Dead)
but when I felt him around the penumbra of my mind,
He was sparkling, bright colored light
and oh so full of joy.
When He smiled, the whole earth rose up to meet Him,
the whole earth’s heart leapt within.

This was just the beginning;
this was just the start of my Jesus.

Imago Dei

“Made in the image of God”,

that’s what You told me.
For so long I thought life was a chore,
aching upon rising and upon laying down,
my body something to be fought or tamed,
not a wonder of life.
(It was always: too little, too much.)

But that night
right before the dusky dawn rising,
You poured crumbs of butter-yellow hope-light
down into my hungry heart

and I was shining.
No more dark grey cobwebs
twisted ’round my eyes,
musty thin veil of soft light grey dust,
hanging round my head like a heavy metal shell,
sobbing silent behind dust and dread.

In my heart, so sudden, there was a song

and as I trace my fingers ’round the
edge of this glorious skin,
I smile, so still, take the deepest breaths,
and I sing.
Ringing out of my heart, and oh, Your hope, I could taste it!
sweet as balm, sweet as honey to the lips of my untrained heart.


It is in the stillness that I see You
when the swirls of life
billow gently to the side
and You come close.

You come in close,
and from far away I can see You coming

up from the wilderness,
up to my wilderness,
to the cave where I nestle
upon the pillow,
upon the rock of You.

I have built You an altar in my heart,
You have built Yourself a temple of my body.
The two are knit and intertangled;
I cannot separate what You have put together.

The only thing You rend
is separation;
You split a veil to put a bridal veil of glory o’er my face.

Oh, the closeness of You,
the reaching out and touching Your cheek,
the memorizing of Your face,
the daily watching of Your eyes.

You see me,
and I live for the moment
that I see You,
(it shimmers and)
it shivers me
from my skin
to my inner deep within.

Knit within my belly
the rooting and grounding of Your love,
the umbilical cord,
You to me,
the Adoption.

This cord You knit
tethers me to You.
Woven by Your flesh,
(once black and blue),
and filled with all manner of richness,
this good and perfect gift,
rich red from Blood shed,
from the Father of lights, not changing like shifting shadows,
no, there is no turning in This Love.

With a mighty hand and outstretched arm
You gathered me to Yourself,
all Your compassions kindled;
Your heart turned over within itself,
and scooped me up from the fall.

Oh, Daddy, oh Papa, Your love is so full;
my soul never knew till now.