Sunday, August 24, 2008


Sunset in the labyrinth.
The crack between worlds
some say.
When day shifts to night.
Dew is forming
and floats to my nose
with the spirits
and the questions
God urges me on
with you just ahead.
We dance our questions
God reminds me (again)
that my wound is my gift.
(will I EVER get this!)
And I see my Dad walking along the periphery
keeping pace and still smoking, I see.
But not entering the labyrinth.
God tells me he’s sent me angels
at various times during my life.
They only help
If you believe, says God.

At the center, a figure carved in stone.
Jesus. Mother Mary. Buddha. Muhammad.
It doesn’t matter.
The figure looks off balance.
I feel an urge to straighten it so it won’t fall over.
But I can’t reach out.
It’s scary somehow.
To see imperfection in something we want to believe
is perfect.


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