Look First

Turn my eyes to see your face
when I have turned away to move on my own
and I don’t know where you are.

Turn my eyes to see yours
so that I can know you just a little bit more
and where you will move.

Turn my face to see your view
and look in my eyes to see where I would run
and hold me there.

Clay

Formed out of the clay,
the wet earth from the stream welling up
and watering the thirsty ground,
why should I not conform to your hand

and let you collapse my walls,
pushing down with the heel of your palm
until all I had built
is returned to you and I am
another formless lump

ready to be fashioned anew
into what you have in mind.
Better to be soft and malleable
than broken pieces
that tried to put up a fight.

Again and again
You will reshape my life,
and I will let you.
This is our pact: You will tear down
all that will not last,
and build up what you see in me
that is good.

When You Leave (The Sun)

Yesterday I was driving through the high plains of Western Kansas
when the sun was setting,
the sky a dusty pink and orange.
And every hill brought a slight change in direction
to and away from the sun
until there was a row of little black holes
blinking at me across the horizon
as my eyes strained to recover from the sun’s fierce glow.

It reminded me of one summer
when we missed the chance to say goodbye.
You walked out alone and threw me one brief glance
before stepping out of sight,
a glance so filled with emotion and things unspoken,
that I could only blink at the empty spots
left in your wake.

I don’t think you know that you light up the sky.