Immanence

I know you stroll 
beyond Andromeda
gazing on Magellanic Clouds,
but I cannot see that far. 

I am stardust 
to Earth-fallen.

Yet I seek you in the autumn rain,
hear you singing in the evening wind.

Your breath fills my empty lungs,
your smile lights my darkened eyes,
and my heart overflows 
with your sacred blood —

love spilling,
Earth-fulfilling.

(11 June 2011 - 2/19/2019)

Consoling Mary

Freely flow her tears;
a dam so brimful
cannot contain
such towering waves.

Wondering that
my words fail
to give peace,
I reach out
and take her trembling hands.

Tearful,
I brush away
all her
bitter tears.


(13 April 2011)

After Christmas

Photo, Brian Federle: Desert Tree, Palm Springs, Dec. 2016.

After Christmas

life persists, though

the bare trees are

dancing with death,

their leaves ripped

from living flesh;

disincarnate,they wait

for the storm.

So how, then, can I endure?

I live that day every day,

clenched fists pounding

my penitent heart, crying

Mea culpa! Mea culpa!

What kind of a father am I,

absent at the hour of your need?

Oh, forgive me, my son!

Surely tomorrow

the rain will come.

(28 Dec. 2018)

Gloria

Photo, Brian Federle: Pacifica Sunset

Sudden light

flares in the eastern sky.

Bright clouds burst

and consume the void

with glory.

The newborn child,

wrinkled and pink, warms

in his mother’s embrace

and waits for the stunned world

to exhale.

(23 December 2012)

The Obscure Sense of the Presence of God

Walking down a street, sweeping a floor, washing dishes, hoeing beans, reading a book, taking a stroll in the woods-all can be enriched with contemplation and with the obscure sense of the presence of God.    Thomas Merton. The Inner Experience: Notes on Contemplation.


I see how the evening sun lights
the high grass, trees shift in the gentle wind
and small brown birds flit between
outdoor tables as young women
reach for coffee cups
drop sweet crumbs to the rough sidewalk,
to the birds.  Intent on home-work,
office-work, they never look up
to see how the sky
deepens to darker hue;
how day will fade soon
and vermilion night set fire
to the seaward hills.

The west wind will finally drive them in,
and the grateful birds will all fly away.

I see how Your love lurks even in the weeds
that grow on the edge of the most
tended garden; hides in the cries of
the grieving mourning dove;
falls like rain in the tender,
moonless night.

(30 July 2013)