He Who Finds pt.i

He who finds a wife 
finds a good thing, 
a great thing, 
a treasure thing 
and brings things 
full circle. 360 degrees 
of full favor. Indeed, 

Coneja, 
I savor each morsel of touch time, 
each second of heart speech.
Words flavored like starlight. 
Incomprehensible in distance.
They have traveled from the overflow
of the innermost person we are
 
and are becoming. To love
is, after all, to live.
To live is, above all, to know
God (and we do),
His through and through favor
(Oh, I do!). I am ready
for an unnameable flavor
only I (in God) truly taste.

Coneja, 
my unmistakable tour of tastes.
I will name every one
God will bring me and
(together) I will call them: 
Woman. The out of man–
two halves paired, 
a (flavor) whole.

For Spain

Today I want to throw a party

for a person of very high caliber.

A wedding party

of planetary proportions

and (I'm sorry) 

I have to cancel our plans

because it's time to prepare.

Weddings take time

take life, take love

and give more 

than you can fit in your heart

even if you shove.

I am ready

and I will be

ready for a persecution party.

A party that maybe

you wouldn't understand

that maybe you will easily find

a ready reason to leave behind

and immediately forget.

But you can't forget

in your dreams.

In your dreams

you will recall everything 

your soul saw and devoured

but your eyes fluttered over

like a distressed sparrow

finding neither limb nor branch.

But your soul was a kite

and the wind blew 

form nowhere and everywhere,

from no direction

and every direction

and now you are irreversibly tangled,

in your dreams.

In your dreams 

you are ready

and you will be

unable to stop these limbs,

gently pulling your soul strings,

discovering a place in this tree

where, at last, 

you can rest your bones.

And the camera zooms out

revealing home upon home

unmortgaged and unloaned,

forever beyond reach

of being bought or sold

because inheritance comes once

and lives in your bones.

Listen:

The Wind

comes now.

His Voice 

will send you

impossibly high

and perfectly free.

What I Need

I need to know you are (fully free)
more committed to the truth
than you are to me. My lips,
do they (in their most ripeness),
my hands (in their most gentlest),
my eyes (in their most confident
irises that say everything oceans can),
do they move your soul
more than the whole
heaven full of gold?

Would you (consider it sold)
be willing to put heaven (on hold)
out of commission, even the great,
because of some second-rate
coupon-clipping, get an instant rebate,
comfortable, safe, painless, touchless
dream that is a flat as warm week-old soda?
Colored corn syrup
just ain't what they used to make
in glass bottles, believe me
I used to believe
it would satisfy my thirst.

I need to know something
greater than me comes first
that you see Him in me
and me in Him
oh this One of greatest worth
that I am electrified by,
characterize my
inner man;
a lover learning
how to host, yes,
God on a heart-throne
(Bone of my bone)
that no one has ever seen
or known
until this fresh moment
(now flesh of my flesh)
when you see Him in on over me.

Two lamps talking in light,
luminescing in conversation
the darkness cannot comprehend
but only pretend
but only pretend
and spend all its time talking
to no one because
darkness has always been
about isolation, lonely people
are people that can't see
or be seen. Really
what can you see if you can't
see Him in me?

In the Light
we fellowship for free
but in darkness it costs us everything.
Even beyond what is ours,
losing the inheritance
for which we are given charge.
Oh the generations,
how they need you to see
the (in me) Immanuel reality
more than just a spell
of speech and dreams and beauty
what things are subject
to constant change.

How vast are His judgements.
How unsearchable are His ways.
Who can know the mind of God?
But we have the mind
of His Beloved Son.

The Future Part II

When we were young,
young ones, we loved
with tender tongues.
Look! We were here
once every eight hundred years
when the North Star rises
in the east, I can't sleep,
trying to keep
those days in my arms
bright and beaming I would sing
(wouldn't you too)
and seem and lean all of my weight
on invisible Arms,

arm-in-arm
after a thousand charms
You still taste sweet
to meet you, pleased
to believe (if only I believe)
something real about those days
leaking out of my arms,
my skin,
my pores.
I'll keep gathering them in like stray sheep
as the universe rolls on
cold and black;
the sunset of destiny,
looking back forever
to the flickering candle of what was
calling me,
pulling me,
push and shove
hands, eyes, and blood.


The climax of the cosmos,
the Voice that calls
up through the soles of my feet,
pleads and pleads
and sees and stings:
"sojourners,
wanderers,
travelers,
we flow."
"You are with Me,"
calls the Voice in the sunrise.
At night I dream;

past armies unfold
the battle of my days.
(uniformed, buttons, bayonets fixed
blood cherry red
in their cold cheeks,
breath condenses in the frosty air)
frozen in still frame,
when I wake,
frozen in my hot brain.

Here, in this maze of universe,
my story bleeds
through their perfectly preserved eyes.
In them I cross the icy rivers
with my newborn flag.
In them the story of the universe
sings through statue eyes,
showing me how
to step into the flame
of these last days.

The Future Part I

Imagine future me

and future you too

clipping coupons for vitamin D

(2000 milligrams a day

keeps our space rot away),

our bones encroach

light speed, our skin tries

to keep up. It's tough

when seed after seed,

time flowing through our family trees,
generations find their habitation
(a somewhere constellation), cold
and black a million miles from
earth-speaks, calling us
back, tracing our tracks, hearts
tacked tight to the rhythms

of her ebb and flow.

It's been grab and go

forget it and let the future unfold;

leave your everything home

with our last distant address

God bless
all the like-it-or-not cadets.

Sojourners,

wanderers,

travelers,

we flow.

Spacesuits,

manwalks,

frozen rocks,

we know.

Parentships,

child begets,

time ticks,

we grow,

we grow,

we grow.

The only thing important now

is our speed, hopefully

the trajectory was right

when we got started.

Gold-hearted, our ancestors aimed
when the world was still flat
and her edges distorted
with the best aim their brains could boast.
We've been trained to toast to the most
they could offer, when we stowed
our baggage in the compartments below
(our new home tin can craft),

sealed the hatch,

seat belt,

ignition dealt,

gravity a blow.

We committed our souls

to a generous catch,

staked our lives on the best

the future has (we're sure of it,
consummate) keys to unlatch.

rockets, we blast
through (all fear!)

as slowly our everything disappeared;

true trees,

shifting cities,

my majestic mountains

(tis of thee),

close continents

over oceans

(sweet land),

one atmosphere

(of liberty),

many moons,

stars, and suns

(there is a difference

between freedom and fun).

Our funerals found us early,
in this cosmic casket.
We regret to inform you
our sons and daughters

will be face-to-face

for a million more years

to come. Where do they go

(in this) when there just isn't

enough (craft) room or hallway

to tolerate their silent split

or hiding when they try to miss

each other's eyesight?

God, it's just easier to fight.

One thing I now know (black);

I am going to have to meet you (blue).

I am eyes (still slightly bruised)

first seeing you,

time trials multiplied

what's true,

what's broken,

what's patched and glued

propped up, parading personalities

but I've never been one to take a fool.

It is surprisingly beautiful,

weightless, heart-to-heart

in our mansuits

and oxygen rich attitudes

at times (when the cabin pressure drops)

and being born into

this revival relationship,

a strange but heart-fully full throttle mess.

Finally, after all these galaxies

here is me (imagining)

and (unfolding) you too.

I've been puzzled dear
but watch these pieces float
together in our weightless new.