Poems from old notebooks

It takes faith
and the lead in this pencil
to write my way into
faith

What my heart cannot feel
I must spell out
in cursive loops across this line:

What you have chosen
only your marrow can know
only the deep can hold.

What you are living
you've chosen - that burnished
stone, that polished core

hold it up to the probing light,
tuck it close
in your threadbare coat,

You have lost all that you owned,
lost it all
but this pebble pearl.

Let it be your answer.


(I've been re-reading some of my old writings and have decided to post some of them. For a further taste, check out the Expatriot Letters link, for some shamelessly personal poetry written by Annie and myself.)