I wanted you to give me back my self
the way the sun gives itself back
to this strangled city at dawn.
The way spring replaces winter,
I wanted you to replace
darkness with light,
dreams with waking,
death with life.
I wanted you to do God’s work.
Then God said: Let him be alone again.
And I was alone.
Three strikes. Nine innings. Three outs.
You did what you had to do.
We all do. For instance,
I am compelled to keep breathing.
I can’t do a damn thing about it.
The body bleeds, the heart beats,
and the song plays on
for those with ears to hear it.
We used to dance through our fears
to the pulse of that song.
I wanted to hear our bodies sing
until my ears could hear no more.
Now some other man will stand astonished
at your choosing him. His ears will open
as you call him into union
with you, with himself, and with Life.
But knowing this truth is no knife to my heart.
I want you to be some man’s beloved wife.
When this prayer reaches you,
forgive me, as I forgive you,
as God forgives us both,
we who know not what we do.
union
Help Is On The Way
Help me to hear the song brokenness sings on its way to hope. Help me to grasp the hand loneliness offers on its way to union. Help me to trust the tears loss releases on its way to peace. Help me to be the tunnel grief travels on its way to love.
Inside the clarifying whisper
Inside the clarifying whisper of a bare room, I carry the gift of total engagement with a loose grip. I ask the god of clarity to open the ears of my heart, awaken the eyes of my mind. I surrender my conditioned hatred of trivial irritations, and I rivet my attention on a particle of dust a ray of light enlightens. I watch my soul return to the lake it swims in at dawn, and I watch dawn rise to the challenge of my chosen task. And I ask my master: may Time in its violent density lie down naked with Eternity in its eloquent silence. And out of their intangible union, from the annihilating depths of love, may the man’s true nature arise.
Troublesome Times
These are troublesome times for coupled-in and singled out alike. How can I uncover my union with God and the other in this unrelenting solitude? How can she recover her heaven-sent solitude with God through earth-bound union with the other? I would rather have her here to hold and comfort me on this last cold morning of November, and in the many cold mornings to come. Instead, I have only this stubborn wood that has caught fire, finally. But I am not comforted. I am bundled but buffeted. I walk outside and feel the wind rushing in; it cuts through my many threadbare coats to the raw skin.
Brian Leibold 