freedom and night

I have learned to fly
to swim, to leave the stones
I’ve collected, dropped
where they fall, and I have
learned not to care.

I stuffed sadness inside
seashells and set them off
to drift away to foreign shores

I have razed anger and misery
to the hardscrabble where it
belongs, so get thee behind me
I pray to the Lord that He
will come to collect my garbage

My wings are older than
your patience and upon my
wings, courage that
leads to madness and
back to redemption again,

The dove flies over a terrible
desert where bells ring out the
psalms of men


More beautiful than the winds.

More beautiful than the winds
Who by their silky back-and-forth
Weave hope into destiny;
And never has the hope launched
Any man’s wager as high
as the vital illusion Who rides his flight
on the wings of the vulture.

If death can fly for the sake of stealing,
is there anything that life,
for the sake of dying, could not do?