Flowers & Arrows

William wore a hair shirt
somewhere around Italy,
shows you what I know about saints.

Little picture cards litter
the chaplain's desk,
flowers and arrows pierce the heart.

A yard and B yard assemblies,
melting pot of hot heads
and maimed spirits.

We gather to pray here,
two or more
the math of heaven.

Just a closer walk;
the forgiven getting up,
time after time, doing time.

We leave one chair open
for who went before,
and who comes after.

Each lost sheep
makes a sound only
the Shepherd can hear.

Silk Inheritance

Cuff links and a wrapped chocolate

lay on my desk like shells

from a sea as long gone

as my Pa.

I wore his tie to prison,

in and out, just visiting.

Guys abandoned to the streets

get a kick out of the fat double Windsor

bouncing on my Adam's Apple

when I sing Amazing Grace.

I used to wonder how

such a noble soul

could have such an atrocious wardrobe.

Now I know, disguise

the limit.

Costa Coconuts

Green, the thing
to save a mountain
from slipping.

Coconuts planted
knee deep in the howling
monkey rain.

A roadside taller
than stars slanting
through trees.

Work crew, machete,
shovel, bag of seeds
the size of bowling balls.

Erosion, a soul disease,
the first day with no kneeling
washes out.

Gloves, peeled wet
from the forest,
stay folded in prayer.

One of the things
equal at the equator is
the root of love holding soil.