Haiku for your back pocket.

Out from behind the fig leaves
the music plays on
shame shaken under the sun

Fall. A poem.

Fall

The other night, the wind and rain
slapped a lot of beauty out of their canopies.
The rain fell on the leaves,
the leaves fell like rain.
The colors lay dead.

I tried to rally my kids to pick them up.
I gave them Elmer’s glue and a stapler.
I had a few ladders too.

The sun’s out and how much
I wanted to see the colors against a cool blue sky
rather than on faded green grass and asphalt and gravel.
I prayed for a resurrection
and imagined the maples bending over,
gathering leaves like fallen feathers.

But then, my kids dropped the glue
and staples and the disbelief
their faces had shown me.

They ran for rakes.

With their faces flush with autumn air,
they piled up the leaves on the runway.
They carelessly overlaid color on color,
like a scribbler with crayons.
Their excitement rose, as did the pile.

I saw the clear blue sky in their eyes
as they lay laughing in the spectrum.
I smiled as their redemptive act
fell on me like cool rain in the night.

“Again.” What this child says to his God

One more book,
one more song,
one more walk
of the spirit to see
One who swallows me.

The search continues for
Someone I have already found.
This quest of authenticity
resurrects dead poets,
theologians, and sages.

“The heavens’ embroidered cloths”
lie as dreams under Your feet.
I will tread softly on Your dreams.

You said it was all straw
yet I will gather the stalks
you left lie.

I will see the invisible fecundity
in the visible things
set in the dimmed light.

I shadow
contemporary
searchers of light.

Neil Diamond was lost
between two shores
to find out who he was.

Bruce Cockburn’s dance
with the everywhere truth
and the grace to lay it bare.

Michael W. Smith points to
the flesh and blood
of the I Am Love.

A book,
a song,
a walk
in the cool of the day
and You show up.