Our Promise

This time
is like all the rest
only different.
This time
we won’t forget
kind words.
This time
we’ll understand
how pain
can change you.
This time
we’ll call on heaven
to guide us
through the chaos
and bless the earth
with the seeds
of love.
This time
we won’t
be deceived.
This time
we will
be human.





















Reading of “Our Promise” with music by Eddie Vedder


Where Dreams are Crafted

I hadn’t found you
though I’d looked
in the branches above
and roots below the street,
in the faces of the serious
and the moon behind clouds.
Searching high and low
I came up empty
until I looked
in the space
where the heart
softly beats,
where dreams
are crafted,
and in the silence
without regret
there I found you.



photograph by Brenda Jenkins





















Reading of “Where Dreams of Crafted” with music by Ali Farka Toure and Ry Cooder


In the Hour Before Dawn

Tell you what I’ll do.
I’ll scrub the world
with steel wool,
scrape away the grimy bits
of cruelty and war,
put soap and water
to sorrow and despair.
Fresh flowers
on all the graves,
for the forgotten.
Silence to cleanse
the tangle of sound
then starlight
for speaking.
When you awake
you’ll find tears
of kindness
watering the garden
and green earth waiting.
That’s what I’ll do
for you this morning.























Reading of “In the Hour Before Dawn”


Gospel of Innocence

Easter 2023


Surrounded by noise
it’s difficult to discern
how life each day
speaks through starlight
and the colors of spring.
Tiny birds flit about,
rivers loosen as ice
releases its grip
and though your body
descends in the arc of age
the inner voice remains clear.
Why take up the sword
the closed hearted invite?
On this day
the gospel of innocence
holds space for all
and through the pain,
the long suffering and despair,
into the light of forgiveness
you rise.






















Reading of “Gospel of Innocence” with music by Kenny Burrell


Where Bones Grind

The cherry trees
are soaked
in cold rain,
the valley skies
wrapped in gray.
I watch with faith
like the druids of old,
talking quietly
to the broken earth
of my own body.
Where bones grind
the lesson to go slow
takes form and speaks.
Patiently I wait
with the cherry trees,
roots sunk beneath
the pavement,
drawing up beauty
from the soil
we’ve been given.

















Reading “Where Bones Grind” with music by Netherland Bach Society