The Clock’s Surrender
I hear the steady ticking on the shelf,
The metal pulse that counts the hours away.
It cares for neither spirit nor for self,
But drives us toward the closing of the day.
Yet when your fingers brush against my wrist,
The gears within the tower seem to fail;
The minutes vanish in a golden mist,
And time itself becomes a phantom trail.
Let every pendulum swing to and fro,
And let the seasons hurry toward the fall;
Within this breath is all I need to know,
A moment that is wider than them all.
For love has no chronology or end,
It is the timeless space where we ascend.
The Echo’s Answer
I called your name across a canyon wide,
Before I even knew your face or form.
I searched for you in every rising tide,
And listened for your voice within the storm.
I thought the echo was a lonely thing,
A hollow sound that mocked my empty hand;
The winter bird that had no song to sing,
The shadow moving on the barren sand.
But then you spoke, and all the silence broke,
A melody that matched my heart’s own beat;
The sleeping spirit in my breast awoke,
To find the harmony at last complete.
No longer do I shout into the blue,
For every prayer I breathed was led to you.
The Weaver of Stars
The sky is like a velvet cloth tonight,
Embroidered with a million points of fire.
They shine with cold and prehistoric light,
Indifferent to the heat of our desire.
But we have found a warmth they cannot reach,
A glow that’s born of skin and softest breath;
A lesson that the heavens cannot teach,
Of how a love can triumph over death.
For though the stars may burn themselves to naught,
And galaxies may drift and fall apart,
The tangled web of grace that we have caught
Is etched upon the fabric of the heart.
So let the cosmos spin its lonely wheel,
We have this certain fire, which is real.
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