Falling into Place (November 2008)

I have always wondered
what it would feel like to glide into water
and settle my wings down into a contented swim.

It must be one in the same feeling
as a frisbee coming home to your hand
after its slow arc through the air;

that sensation of staring into the eyes of someone
you will love for a very long time,
though you have only just met.



little satellite cycling round
hovering just out of plain sight
are you so unsure
you’ve been circling for years
only giving me flashes of who you are
why do you keep yourself away
only darting in to take a closer view
before veering away again
bill full
are you looking for one more angle to uncover
before believing that it’s safe to land
or will you continue to beat your wings
flapping furiously to hide the sound of your heart
whirring and clicking
like a strange bird among the stars


I sometimes forget that the foothills can be green.
When the sight for months on end
has only been variations of slate and brown,
dry sheaves of grass
and ever sinking, muddied ponds.

and it comes so late,
after false hopes
and late snow,
the back and forth of thawing
and refreezing under feet of snow.

but that first day
when I notice just barely perceptible
tones of olive and forest green
in the backdrop of this mountain scene,

it feels like a long-forgotten memory
has suddenly reappeared before my eyes,
reminding me
that something comes alive inside of me
with the romance of spring.

While Running Beside the South Platte River

Today I passed a man who seemed to be fishing
in an empty river bed.
The water had dropped down over centuries
and now, pooling just out of sight,
was barely trickling through the rocky dirt.

It’s been said that you are one to change
the desert into streams
and thirsty ground into springs of water.
But will you change this dead land between us
into a place verdant with the beauty of life.

When I look across this ocean of sand
and see nothing worth saving,
you tell me that generous is the man
who is merciful
and lends of himself.
And how widely yet your mercy flows,
coming to me like rain in the spring,
that waters the earth,
and showing me how to give of new life.

Come let us set things right,
you say,
and I remember that I have known
my sins to be like scarlet,
but yet you made me white as wool.
And maybe it is not so impossible
to stand on dry land,
rod in hand,
waiting for the flash of scales.

Fr. Jay

condensation slowly drips down
my plastic coffee cup,
which is mostly full of milk,
with a little chocolate and decaffeinated coffee
mixed in for good measure.
it reminds me of sweat that often beads
on the forehead of one of our resident priests
as he gravely hands out communion.

a deeply holy man regularly moved by grace,
he preaches with an eagerness
to relay the truths of love
that free the soul,
his kind voice rising as he brims with emotion
to tell of the grace of God,
even as he perspires
under the weight of glory
and heavenly garments.

Mt. Tabor (Feast of the Transfiguration)

You led me up a high mountain
and I thought
that I would be able to see for miles
but instead your dark cloud descended
grey and wet and cold
this mist made me draw close to You

but still You wanted me to see more
and illuminated
not my path
but my heart and yours
because the more I see of you
the more I know of me
and sometimes my eyes need to see
that who I will become in You
is more important than where I will go