there is no such
thing as silence
in the calm
of any quiet
you can hear
hearts breaking
dreams dying
thanks giving
sadness singing
hope harmonizing
losses mounting
faith enduring
grace pervading
love crashing in
listen closely
listen . . .
for your name
your name
mine, too
Peace,
Milton
handscape I’ve been staring at my palms like they were a writing prompt or a collection of coded runes the deep rutted roads that run like poorly planned highways across an aging desert of skin ancient river beds now run dry from days when dreams roamed these valleys like dinosaurs I’ve stared long enough to…
As the second week of Advent begins, the light moves from hope to peace. The practice of Advent grows out of church tradition rather than anything Jesus said or did, or anything in the Bible. I don’t know the story of how the weeks became identified—hope, peace, joy, and love—or how the order was chosen,…
no matter what page we turn what ball drops or what calendar we follow when tomorrow dawns on us we will still hold the sorrow that slept here last night the hopes and fears of all last year might sit silently for a few hours while we dance and remember the promises we hoped to…
Lila she got a special walk around the green this morning she didn’t know why anymore than she understood that breakfast never came just a car ride to her least favorite parking lot where I handed her over to a kind tech who spoke sweetly and led her away after I told her it would…
There is no them. Only us: across the table, behind the wall, sharing coffee, passing the green beans, throwing stones, breaking curfew; armed to the teeth biting back with rubber bullets, cheering for little leaguers, praying for peace, marching in the night, hiding behind official jargon; joining in song, crying out for explanations, flying drones…
who knows how many pictures of you I’ve taken how many times we’ve walked down our street — in sun and snow — on our way to coffee and conversation yet you still steal my heart in the simplest of ways the singlest of frames the hope and ache of a lifetime caught…
i’m listening
Thanks.
Milton, you are firing on all pins, my friend…
(As I tell my mom–who is an incredible artist at 80–You know? If you keep practicing…)
Thanks, Nathan. Here’s to practicing.
Peace
Milton