Sad eyes, sing on.
Sing for the ears of morning
so that they may
know this beauty lost to light;
the longing in
an arid cry before springs
caress the dust
and mute a thirst-fed spirit’s
Children skirt the edge of dawn
on ground where a dark durge lay
formless in the palor of
I know where the music is.
Come with me and sing.
If I miss a word, which I’m apt to do, don’t worry.
The melody sings itself. You’ll hear it, too.
What matters are the wordless harmonies we’ll make,
and whether we can find a way
to move together, tightly held.
They sent a warning starting out
that I will stumble –
ever falling forward into nothing.
But they didn’t tell me
(because they couldn’t know)
there would be a song for singing, dancing
with anyone who’s not afraid
to hold my hand and meet me in the now.
Nothing won’t be nothing
if we are one and bravely go there.
Love and Joy will give that place a name.
Thank You for the tangle which unwound me.
Thank You for the darkness where You found me.
Thank You for the chains with which You bound me.
Thank You for the grave in which You ground me.
Thank You for the cross through which You crowned me.
Thank You for Your voice which does expound me.
Thank You for the Love that will surround me.
Thank You for this singing all around me.
In my tear
you saw reflections of yourself
that made you laugh.
Then I started grinning.
“Horton Hears a Who!” you said,
and sparkled like a little one heard.
We chuckled together ’til nightfall,
having found the hidden cache.