I bless the world

I bless the world.
I bless it
with stories of devotion on your body
and sing my hymns in your sleep.

Last night, I blessed the rolling hills,
carpets of violets and dandelions bloom
a cushion for tired feet,
your spine a river
to quench their thirst.

The night before I blessed it planting,
my fingers dug down to raise earth
on your back.
There I planted fruit trees.
In the valleys, low growing berries.
Up the hills, I planted vegetables.
These are the daily bread.

When love happens and pain
makes you weep,
I collect these blessed liquids to make wine.
In it, I bless the world and you.
Because this earth is my faith,
love is my church,
and I am the priest.

there is plenty

There is nothing to hate about us, you say.
I say there is plenty.

The hurt I feel is hateful.
The love I lost.
The daydreams that remain
daydreams.
The parts of my body scattered
in your apartment that I want back--
my hair, my sweat, my skin, my words, my stories, my voice,
my cooking, my jokes, my pleading, my yes, my no,
everything,
even the things I cannot recall
but my body does.
I want them all back.
But they won't come back.
And I hate that.


10/22/17