Lent — day twelve

I have two for you today.

I am the shape of evergreens,
ever upward, strong, true,
swaying when the wind speaks,
lovely in the snow.
I am the shape of golden beams,
rich and familiar, bask in, yet
cannot hold, slow, gentle burning,
still and never still, only here a while yet.

Our father named me Forget,
he named my brother Faithful.
I wonder if he knew, when he called me,
what a weight it is to live into
that name. A name that calls me
to be louder than sorrow.
I wonder if it is that name
which caused Jacob’s hand
to find Faithful more suitable
for blessing than I. My father,
for once, did not forget,
he righted his own father’s hands;
but Jacob did not forget either.
I’ve been told he stole his blessing.
I suppose he thought Faithful
should not have to steal
like him. I suppose Faithful
is easier to rest the promise
of a nation upon, than Forget.


Untitled the eighth.

Four o’clock hits
and the world turns golden.

The sun has traveled far enough
that we can talk as friends,
instead of shouting through blue distance,
and words turn golden.

Every barren tree.
Every dead-grass field.
Every ill-paved,
or well-paved,
still paved,
road –

Air becomes heady,
drunk with light,
yet clear to breathe –
because it’s golden.

And birds sail,
drink in the veiled air,
send messengers to run,
tell Creation that it’s come –
to taste, delight rejoice,
this gift is golden.

I in my car, clutch the wheel,
clutch my heart,
let music torrent flood,
wash deep down,
bring up dust, life, and blood,
listen to you call it golden.

Hazy light,
flooded air,
you jar,
and you tear,
send messengers to run,
tell my soul that it’s come,
to taste, delight, rejoice,
this gift is golden.