I Pray for You and Wish I Could Do More

I pray for you and wish I could do more,
But more I cannot do from far away.
Like leaves before the wind we cannot stay,
Ripped dancing, dancing to the forest floor.
I wish I could your ailing health restore
And bring you to the strength of yesterday,
But all we mortal souls can do is pray
That God might alter what we have in store.
The beauty in our fragile life is love,
The only thing that makes the moment matter,
The golden thread that binds us all in light.
I wish, I wish I could your pain remove,
But like a wall the truth my will must shatter,
And so I send my prayers into the night.
Mental Illness Doesn't Touch the Soul
Mental illness doesn't touch the soul
Even as it punishes the mind.
None can will the wanderings of the wind,
Though winter come, and tempests take their toll.
All who suffer innocent shall find
Love waiting by the window, well and whole,
Inside the heart, where it has full control,
Longing ever, ever unresigned.
Let go your fear, and follow, then, your path,
Neither more nor less constrained than those
Embraced by gods less ruthless in their wrath.
Sing bravely down the windrows of your woes,
Savoring a grace that comes and goes.
So May a Tiny, Clever Enemy
So may a tiny, clever enemy
Wield more power than the greatest states.
Inventive, mutant, merciless murderers,
Now they plot as the world prepares and waits,
Each moment shadowed by catastrophe.
For us, the only road to victory
Lies through the valley of the sufferers,
Unified in love till death abates.
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Blessings Are Not Only of the Light

Blessings are not only of the light:
Open up your heart to gifts of darkness.
None is offered miracles to choose,
Nor knows which gifts of grace one may refuse,
Imposing will upon an unwilled stillness
Eternally within each nub of night.
Miracles are also of the night,
Although we tend to see the good as light.
Reason is an oar that stirs the stillness,
Knowing but the diving range of darkness,
Unaware that what we would refuse
Sustains the miracles that we would choose.
Sing, then, of a gift you did not choose:
Each day the oil supplied for one more night.
To live's a gift few songbirds would refuse,
Holding forth like mad to greet the light,
Each a miracle distilled from darkness,
Little cup to hold a drop of stillness.
If only one could be one's drop of stillness:
Zero will, zero urge to choose,
Avidly serene in light or darkness,
Boat sailing without wind across the night.
Each would then be free to love the light,
There being no consent one would refuse,
Having savored all one would refuse.
Blithe Fingers Know the Psalms of Adoration
Blithe fingers know the psalms of adoration;
Often they play them on the flesh of light.
No hearing necessary, nor is sight
Needed to draw the lineaments of pleasure.
In despair only is there desecration:
Evil in pursuit of pain, not pleasure.
So may we not regret our loss of sight:
Eight days God gave the miracle of light.
Touch remains the road to adoration,
However much we miss the gift of light.
Grace is a slate-flat sea, a tranquil sight
After dense hills and fine-wrought pleasure:
Bleak and pure, too spare for desecration;
Rich as a thin dark line drawn with pleasure;
Intense as death, too immense for sight--
Even now, as love replaces light,
Loss of faith, not loss of adoration . . .
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