More than a haphazard
circumstance, a chore,
or an afterthought, dinner
becomes an event. Patiently
feeding, slowly building beds
of glowing coals, we watch
the flames rise and fall.
And what a flavor! Certainly,
it is worth the wait.
The Fiesta
in a small town,
is dedicated to Christ:
everyone drinking
and eating all day
and everyone drinking
and dancing all night;
the fiesta, in a small town,
transformed into a forest–
it’s covered in leaves.
Sweet Blue
How sweet the soft blue
dawn after a sleepless
night, restless:
a tidy breakfast, eggs,
fruit and coffee, then
cleaning the kitchen
clean dishes, clean
as the dawn.
Jet Lag
Day is night
and night is day;
when to sleep
and when to eat
my body cannot say.
I sit on the roof,
small hours bloated
to fullness,
full like the bed full
of dust that I lay in,
hours, restless:
the dark Portugal night.
Flying Over a Dark Atlantic
From where I sit,
high altitude, earth
must be smaller
than I’m accustomed to:
looking out the cabin window.
Yet how vast! As if blanketed
by the shadow of the moon, such land,
such seas stretch before me
in black uncertainty, shining
vaguely with a promise: something
new, something unknown.
Hear! I meet the warble
of dawns coming wings,
the thrumming of the jets,
the monotonous engine.
I come to meet this darkness
squarely, plainly view both
the plain and the extraordinary,
and still I look forward
to coming home..
