for Joe
I feel for you this morning, in spite of it all. My pure atheist, nimbly sweet. It felt natural when you said, "The spear in Christ’s side is supposed to open the heart." It was a cheery slap in the face that held me up tall. A big surprise that melted me right at the root. We are hunkering down, you & I, with a bottle of whiskey & our bones. I pray for a fool’s errand & search high & low, always reaching after mysteries in the night sky. But not you, wondrous love. You put one foot in front of the other & take a wild leap beyond the fire & brimstone in my nature, always begging the question. It is OK to rest, you said but only when time stops completely— my cosmologist, you’re golden. You learned an engaged detachment to our random, wicked problems. It is OK to sit with pain, you said especially in winter, to breathe the scent of lavender, to feed the squirrels & birds. Few of us trust our desires or know that meaning is gravy, a thing to ponder, like the echoes of past storms. & so we are floating rather gently now, meat puppets, you & I. We are still swimming in the sea & we are no longer fighting the waves.
Wow. Anything I can do you can do better (sometimes) 🙂