On my morning walk, I stop

On my morning walk, I stop

in a spot along the river near the church

the river that’s carved through the landscape

cuts through me too

and reminds me if

but for a second

that this second 

flows toward the sea as well

and that down under the rapids

the water is still

This church was built with hands and heartbeats 

quarried by men with sinewy muscles and stony faces

pausing to wipe the sweat from their brow I

like to make it to my spot

along the river near the church

before the first bell rings

cutting through the morning it

cuts through me too

My mom used to take me to mass

sometimes

she wasn’t particularly religious but

I remember she would always cry at church

I understand why

Now

as I sit

in the empty church near my morning spot

where I stop on my morning walk

The river and the church intersect with my next breath I’m

not particularly religious but

I feel my mothers’ tears well up in my eyes

well up in my eyes from a spring morning deep inside

that stillness under the river’s rapids

I feel like lighting a candle but 

why 

would I light a candle that’s already lit?

and so I stay seated and feel

and listen

as the morning bell begins

to ring

Morning Blessing

You fell back asleep at 6:48, but I was up

with you in my arms I sat down 

on the couch with a crime novel

and a single light on behind like 

a lamp over an interrogation

I began to read and

now it’s 7:13 and I hadn’t realized it started to rain

I put down my book and look at you

I look down at you and study each little feature

like a detective might

I search the curls of your hair for clues

and the strange curves of your ears

the way you clutch Jean-Claude 

your stuffed lion

even in your sleep

The sweet pendulum swing of your breath

the laboring hum of the refrigerator

the warmth of your face in the pocket of my elbow 

all the details stitched into this moment by

This moment 

opening all the senses at once

like a detective might I sense

a mystery in this moment

but nothing to solve

and all the hints nudge me towards one revelation

towards one revelation that

you are

a morning blessing

Unpack

Flowers at the entrance

flowers at the end

follow the path inwards

to the shaded forest

where a bending path

takes you in circles

each rotation of the breath

inviting you in

The calligraphy of the moment

goes unread

see, we’ve lost the key

to the mail-

boxes stacked we’re

always moving

but never taking the time

to unpack.

Directionless

There’s really no forward

or backward

sunrise or sunset

let’s try to remember

we’re without lines

or demarcation

or nation underneath it all

beyond categorization

and anything we can think

This morning let’s

make the only move we can

directionless

and sink our teeth in

To the last line

(that isn’t really the last

or a line

at all)