grey ghost

my theory
of conspiracy:
that the lure of the poles
is a blood red herring
that the detestable middle
is on to something
most people live there
for a reason

cultural entropy
robs the whitehot
hyperliterate frost hides
an awakening in waiting
there is no flyover land
a grey ghost reminds me—
of the insidious lie
that Truth is inaccessible

haunted
by new strange feeling
heretical thoughts
that sooth
with their stark
uncommon sense
hunted
I give chase
and turn to shake
my stalker
in mad pursuit
of all I held dear
hounded
winded
deathly curious
I surrender
to my grey ghost
and wonder if it’s You
aghast
that I care little
of the answer
when such questions
precious jewels of wonder
surround fill delight
bending theologies
challenging concepts
inquiring of interpretations
loosening fixtures
playful, dangerous laughter
penetrating each plank
echoing off each careworn wall
in my temple of clay

grey ghost
speaks in strangest tongues
not foreign
but astonishingly
familiar

no longer satisfied
with sound bites
of salvation
ready to gorge and devour
a richer meat

no longer convinced
the book is closed
strangely assured
that Truth now clears its throat
for a surprising utterance

no longer holding
a deathgrip
on the back cover
afraid of what the epilogue
includes

no longer insisting
that God has spoken
the sacred dialogue
flows forward
for those with ears to hear

my grey ghost
shapeshifts:
now wife
now daughter
now parent
now friend
now stranger
an unassuming song
a seemingly stray paragraph
innocuous interlude
never the voice I expected
yet always one I know
when I hear it

warm grey
beautiful
achromatic
lightness
between extremes

if all in some way
bear image of deity
then in some way
every iteration
is distinctly divine
each one I pass today
every soul I meet
looks
smells
thinks
behaves
talks
a little like God

our sonship
cannot be severed
nor our daughterhood
discarded
the tragic folly:
pretending we are not
who we are
what we are
where we are
why we are
how we are
nor they either

a ghost taught me that

May 05

specter

my theory
of conspiracy:
that the lure of the poles
is a blood red herring
that the detestable middle
is on to something
most people live there
for a reason

cultural entropy
robs the whitehot
hyperliterate frost hides
an awakening in waiting
there is no flyover land
a grey ghost reminds me—
of the insidious lie
that Truth is inaccessible

haunted
by new strange feeling
heretical thoughts
that sooth
with their stark
uncommon sense
hunted
I give chase
and turn to shake
my stalker
in mad pursuit
of all I held dear
hounded
winded
deathly curious
I surrender
to my grey ghost
and wonder if it’s You
aghast
that I care little
of the answer
when such questions
precious jewels of wonder
surround fill delight
bending theologies
challenging concepts
inquiring of interpretations
loosening fixtures
playful, dangerous laughter
penetrating each plank
echoing off each careworn wall
in my temple of clay

grey ghost
speaks in strangest tongues
not foreign
but astonishingly
familiar

no longer satisfied
with sound bites
of salvation
ready to gorge and devour
a richer meat

no longer convinced
the book is closed
strangely assured
that Truth now clears its throat
for a surprising utterance

no longer holding
a deathgrip
on the back cover
afraid of what the epilogue
includes

no longer insisting
that God has spoken
the sacred dialogue
flows forward
for those with ears to hear

my grey ghost
shapeshifts:
now wife
now daughter
now parent
now friend
now stranger
an unassuming song
a seemingly stray paragraph
innocuous interlude
never the voice I expected
yet always one I know
when I hear it

warm grey
beautiful
achromatic
lightness
between extremes

if all in some way
bear image of deity
then in some way
every iteration
is distinctly divine
each one I pass today
every soul I meet
looks
smells
thinks
behaves
talks
a little like God

our sonship
cannot be severed
nor our daughterhood
discarded
the tragic folly:
pretending we are not
who we are
what we are
where we are
why we are
how we are
nor they either

a ghost taught me that

May 06

talking to girls

watching earnestly
taking in the trappings
of the adolescent
sisterhood
of my big sister
sleepless sleepovers
Bee Gees blaring
Bonnie Bell lip gloss
innumerable strange accessories
garish makeovers
set to a soundtrack
of breathless giggles
strange tribe
I longed to infiltrate

decades of prep school
first the mad chase
the playground pursuit
running rituals
fight and flight
the first instinct
while the words
circled complex concepts
awaiting a vocabulary
then the pubescent preoccupation
intrigued by the idea
of acting adult
clever banter
and a closer connection
instead
settling for sarcasm
and the occasional inspiration
scribbled in a hasty note
in study hall
melodramatic heartaches
tearful breakups
late night confessionals
with other desperadoes
always wondering wondering
what the girls were thinking

finally
a long-awaited
woman in white
revealing
the sacred secrets:
wooing
encouraging
defending
praising
understanding
strategic silence
every day
language lessons
struggle to capture
the crucial balance
of gentle strength
no hard fast rules
except
the law of listening well
hard practice
and with time
a humble confidence

then
the new girl—
fragile beauty
blank slate heart
ears untrained
to the coils of connotation
the tangles of tone
now trusting
now testing
new consequences
for body language
and every notion
I convey
whether conscious
or not

I fear
the power I wield
she cries so easily
but her laughter
sends me soaring
I clamor clumsily
for the words
the right words
to secure her
to build her
to protect her
to convince her
of the depth of her beauty
and the endlessness of my love
all I ever learned
about talking to girls
I practice
on these my two
tomorrow another lesson

May 06