Repent House Suite

Pick basil over battles,
lowing the blood, Sugar, gives rise
to offense; good fences test
flying horses, flying handles
dull the blade.

Hush, not shush,
listening has the in road.
The high road, grown green,
sways arm in arm out of harm's
wayward words.

Under a microscope,
over a cup of coffee,
study the steady answer,
bones hear in a heart beat
what lips conceal.

Step toeing hold, old
opinions fold
in the reveal:
Apology, is the apogee
of heal.

   

The Palm Before the Storm

Open hope in your hand

like ripe pomegranate

juice jewels,

open hope in your hand

like a cloth bound edition

with crisp dollars

between each ancient page.

Open hope in your hand

like the first bird's twitter

after a long night's rain,

open hope in your hand

like burst bean coffee scent, freshly ground

on a Saturday with no chores.

Open hope in your hand

like the buttons on a work shirt

after your shift,

open hope in your hand

like a door that takes both arms

against the wind.

Hope, is always in our hands.

Fists can't feel it.