For the Children of Palestine

You are a mother--
three babies nursed at your breast.

Yesterday, four babies like yours
were murdered by rockets
playing in the sand.

When you took us to the beach,
were you afraid
we would be carried home,
bloodied and mangled?

When you told us to come inside for dinner
after playing with our friends,
were you worried
we might not make it back
to ever eat again?
Perhaps it would be our last meal.

With you, mother, we have our first meal.
And these babies have all nursed at your breast.

in this season of waking unrest

in this season of waking unrest
where all is in shadow
and night is an instant that stretches on                                         forever

i have nothing to say.

who knows what it means

      that there is no light
             but          also            no                 tunnel?


                 who knows when the shroud likes to lift away?


there is a chaos and a murky swamp
                                     my eyes are open underwater and       they                  can't see

    and           nothing         looks,
                                                       sounds                  beautiful


this time
                i will not drown myself

                                        in d  i  s  t  r  a  c  t  i  o  n

      there is no detour,
no way                                             but        through.

Three Seasons and Ten Moons

For three seasons and ten moons
you drew buckets up from the well of my soul
and repaid me with a wish and a kiss,
but no rain to refill me.
And each time you dropped in a penny
I also made a wish
That you would draw your water from me every day,
For I loved to see your face
and its reflection
on my shimmering waters.

I refused to let anyone else drink
from the well of my soul
for fear that there might not be enough for you
whenever you decided to come.
And there was no rain to refill me.

You promised me that one day
you would build your house
next to my well,
for you so loved seeing your reflection
in my shimmering waters,
and you were so thirsty.

Yet the wishes that you made
reflected other dreams.

One day you stopped coming
to draw buckets up from the well of my soul
and I had no kisses, no wishes, and no shimmering face.
For everyone needing water I rejected
so that there would be enough for you and your house
to drink of me forever.  
But now there is no house,
no reflection
and no rain to refill me.

For Him

Sometimes, in the night, 

I feel that you lay next to me.

For that brief, liminal moment

between 

dreaming and wakefulness,

I expect to find you 

there,

your hot breath on my shoulder.

Then, remembering time and place,

I turn over 

and stare into the dark.