by Malcolm T. Liepke |
pulse
behind us the bare house stands empty
no lights no furniture no people
stark and alone
one side of the house is missing many boards
we pulled them off with crowbars trying to free our crying souls
and so we did
is that the dark night now streaming into that opening
or is that the darkness of our lives streaming out
we are an army of spirits and souls
we are an army of love
we will leave the bare house behind us now
but this is not running away
this is growing too large to kept
too strong to be held back
and that which keeps us human we will take along with us
in our still beating hearts
james lee jobe
the winter of our bodies
this is the winter of our bodies I said to her
there is snow on these mountains that will not melt
come spring and there is a coldness in our feet
that stays like a relative who just won't go home
and I give thanks that when the firewood is all gone
we still have each to hold for simple warmth
james lee jobe
that face in the mirror
you know that face in the mirror from its shadows
from its white whiskers rough as timber
and from the lines worn across the forehead
see the dark circles
under the eyes where you built your cabin
to escape the heat of the sacramento valley summer
the nose so steel-hard that you hitched it to a mule
and plowed the stone-dry fields
outside the heat rises from the earth visibly
the hounds are barking
and your head turns toward the window
the face in the mirror does not move
the hands push back the curtains
and the barking quiets down to whimpers
the afternoon is long
and as sharp as a freshly honed knife
james lee jobe
Ānanda, it may be understood how the entire spiritual life is good friendship, good companionship, good comradeship.
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