The other morning we both woke laying flat on our backs.
My arm was under your neck as you rested your head on my shoulder.
This was the same position we fell asleep in the night before
And although it was just a few minutes before the alarm, when this story started, we laid there,
neither one of us acknowledging the other was awake, and neither one of us moving.
As we lied there helpless to each other,
we waited until the clock struck 6:10, at which time
we rolled towards each other and with open mouth, but not a word, we started the day

And that night while you walked the neighborhood, and we let ourselves be by ourselves
I ran along the highway and over the bridge.
All the while, you hung on, and as I made my way around the bend to join the current of the river
you held close, as i dreamed, daytime dreams, our dance, our first evening on our own patio
our many evenings

Now just a few hours shy, I’m here to continue with elatedness knowing there is nothing else to ask for
Our patios will come, and those moments we talk about 50 years from now
about that time on the patio, those will be real, those will be ours

But as we stand here ready to start our beginning, lets just leave those 50 year old memories
to when we have fifty more to look back on, and instead walk towards all we have to begin.
with strides meant for living, you and I.

After today things take on a new light
it’s a bright light, with sharp to the eye streaks stream unto you
and back to me, it cuts
cuts through all that attempts to come between
because it was someting meant for permanence. It was something part of a movement towards the natural
It’s following it’s path and we are falling into stride, things accept to live around it

April. April.
With your spare bed and your big heart
when the sheets were clean, we went on mini vacations
and walked those beaches together

April. April.
Today, all those things we sat up late into the night talking about
knowing that, yes, yes, it was only a matter of time
yes, yes, time has made its mark

What only feels normal, is to take your hand
and continue walking forward.

Minutes before I began to write this sentence
you sat down to write your own
and before i stumbled hands full, away into another room
you reached your arm out, with a confiding look in your eye
nows the time we put in our own words, the reasons we’re looking at each other right this moment I said

“Not that we don’t have reasons you said to me
not that the reasons don’t have definition
but my love, our reasons you know, wouldn’t be what they are if we can put words to them”

What could I do but smile.
My love, sometimes we’ll find some words, here and there
that we will say about them, they won’t capture our reasons
but they will point us to them

So my love, that is the direction we’ll walk
you put it in gold, my love
lets walk and talk.

-Jozef de Vries

“Journey Back to Me”

Windows to the soul I cast my glance upon
Never knowing why once I averted my eyes

In plain view is hidden what is crystal clear to see
The clutter of a half-life piled between me and you

The second beat of my heart is but the first
Crossing this baron dessert vast with thirst unquenchable

Time of this journey is measured in years past wasted
No map to behold or fire down below.

A pool looms like a giant cloud upon the horizon
A mirage perhaps waiting to swallow those who seek to measure its depths

A Lite Brite of dots each shining like the northern most star footlight the path
Each holding hints of this vision-quest all consuming

Many will become one in this alchemy of truths unfolding before me

Bill Kavanaugh

The precipice – to fall or launch?
A direction we must choose
Trembling legs upon which we stand
Have faith or we shall lose

Uncertain; fearing movement
Unmoving; along the edge
Paralyzed by gripping fear
Make known a soulful pledge

Let go of false perceptions
The life-line in our grasp
Illusions of a silken thread
Interwoven through the past

A skewed sense of security
Wrapped by chords that bind
Escape the failing process
Wings folded at our side

Feel the updraft of the swirling wind
Surrounded by His grace
On the edge; a child of God
Forever noticed in this space

Outreached hands are all around
Unseen by covered eyes
Time is the enemy we must fear
For He shall hear our cries

Place not our faith in silken threads
Nor hold fast in fear of fall
Open up our eyes and palms
To receive him after all

Let go and Let God

-Tina Krawczyk

8 o’clock service is only half an hour –
pack all your sins into 30 minutes –
We drive past St. Catherine’s to park
my father and mother cross themselves
my sister’s yawn echoes my own mouth

the heavy wooden doors
mark where silence must begin,
doors too heavy for a child to open.

the smell of religion,
candles and old people
fingers in the fount
the water burns my forehead
it takes five minutes to evaporate -
I was allowed to wear my watch.

genuflect
My mother orders my gum into her hand
giving my sister time to hide hers behind
her molars
paint paid for by parish’s bingo is
peeling off the ceiling.

Father Dominic climbs behind the alter
years of practice fill his voice with condemnation –
seven old people count their rosaries.

cup my hands, left over right
genuflect when passing the crucifix.
The old people open their mouths
to receive the wafer,
don’t chew.

Go in peace
must not exit before Father leaves the alter
holy water on my forehead,
leave through the wooden doors
and wipe it off this time.

- S. Trunzo

An angel appeared before him
A figure bathed in light
Golden curls adorned her head
Eyes shining clear and bright

She was a welcome interruption
His life desperate for repair
A gift from God he knew at once
To lead him from despair

Her soul an endless repository
Full of love for the broken boy
His sense of self awakened
Overflowing with sudden joy

Before long her image haunted him
From the darkness a demon lurked
Perception no longer reliable
Convoluted delusions at work

Golden curls slithered and hissed
Eyes shifted from blue to red
The bright light that surrounded her
Transformed to flames instead

To survive he must destroy her
A battle he must not lose
Bury the angel In disguise
Or risk the right to choose

The first blow met with silent pleas
Blood dripping from his hand
He raised his sword and burrowed deep
Convinced of God’s command

A flutter of wings broke the silence
A slight breeze against his skin
To his dismay his opponent rose
And returned to her origin

His transgression fully realized
Noiseless tears began to fall
Mindful of his broken dreams
She was an angel after all

                                   -Tina Krawczyk