stand with your lover on the ending earth-

stand with your lover on the ending earth- 

and while a(huge which by which huger than 
huge)whoing sea leaps to greenly hurl snow 

suppose we could not love,dear;imagine 

ourselves like living neither nor dead these 
(or many thousand hearts which don’t and dream 
or many million minds which sleep and move) 
blind sands,at pitiless the mercy of 

time time time time time 

-how fortunate are you and i,whose home 
is timelessness:we who have wandered down 
from fragrant mountains of eternal now 

to frolic in such mysteries as birth 
and death a day(or maybe even less)

(e. e. cummings)

Icarus

I am not quite sure you have been right about

everything.

About most things—I will give you that—

But all of them? I would shake my head, then,

And look at you with open eyes.

Will you to see yourself clearer than that.

Look for mirrors sharper than that

and pray for defiance of augury

and knowledge there is grace

            for the fall of every sparrow.

Even those such as Icarus. 

Triplicate

i.

I dreamed the long flight home,
saw that yours was the thought which made me smile,
drank the ocean air like elixir.
Stumbled words, laughed,
ached with threnody.

ii.

If only my arms were as strong as yours!
My solidity would then be unquestioned,
recursive rings tracing my lines.
Then the sunlight could sheet down my sides unfettered,
I could drink air,
and breathe song.

iii.

Who would have thought them sweet?
Those, those words
could bound flesh, thoughts, hope, pain?
Which one of them knew answers? and to
Which question? oh this love
both less and more, more
than I have ever known-


-R.F.B.

120 volt threnody

Escape these saturated colors and leap
(footlong and headloose)
into grey smoking waterfalls
and the white light of past generations,
stilling the electric nerve
and relentless neon pulse of uncertainty.

-Or, just dress that way on social media.
It might be easier, such insulation;
after all, the sepia world never did look like that.


-R.F.B

on Holiness

Summer in the midwest is my favorite time. The world is so alive, then, the wind tosses the trees and brings the rain, it sends them away and the sun sets and the world turns golden. It gets me to thinking of holiness, of the Spirit running with whispering feet over the fields bringing fruitfulness and life. And I find that such beauty, in nature, singing calls me into some of the holiest moments I have known.

And so, my question.

Perhaps yours has nothing to do with beauty, or everything to do with it. It doesn't really matter. You could write it poetry or prose, about the darkness of 5am or the brilliance of a summer sunset, but my question is this:
what has been one of the holiest moments of your life?

~j.l.s.