December 21

why do You torture us with such long waitings
silence, absence–two curses
do You want us to stagger on,
hungry, empty, confused?

No, for all of 400 years–
winter solstice day, though the darkest is the shortest
and from Your secret entry,
the light could only become more full


Journal. Dec. 21, ’14. Ink + iPhone. All rights reserved.



Close-up, Journal. About 2×1 inches. Dec. 21, ’14. Ink + iPhone. All rights reserved.

Perhaps this part didn’t feel that different
from being held by Your Father
Nourished and safely hidden in the womb of a trusting girl
Your powerful mind asleep in the warm

God to be soothed, nursed, and held close
by human hands to human skin
Truly? Dependent, undeveloped fragility; infant bones and need
Embryonic hands still mastering the reins to spinning galaxies…

Born of the Second and Last Mother of All the Living,
God’s Answering Voice Incarnate



water (1 of 1)

a step into the waters, the crowd is stilled–the wind had changed inexplicably

the cells of Spirit-sparked life quickly begin to assume a shape, tiny and unseen

“stop! I am not worthy–You come too close”

a human boy breathes
skin, muscles, bone, laughing-sad eyes
he speaks and loves and sees

taken by choice under the Jordan, breath held in his lungs,
his heart momentarily speeds its pulsing of blood–

miracles temptation questions pain wisdom suffering healing sorrow “Come to Me…”

s u b m e r g e d

the incarnation his baptism
his living, the death of us
his submersion into humanity, our complete and full reversal

though we protest to let You enter
and let you turn our faces to be Beloved.

remember Eden

chase play find

the guarded gate, the flaming sword

children children

great evil happened here

dance pull sway laugh

you don’t know, you weren’t here

inside the gate

there was untamed beauty unbound passion verdant green

every scent that will ever please you

came from here

whenever the breeze traces your skin

remember this place I show you

remember my eyes when I tell you

it was perfection

Life Himself walked with us when the day cooled

we loved, we felt

we worshipped

we longed and were satisfied

from rhythm to rhythm all harmonious

He breathed in all, He knew all

as He walked, the flowers turned their faces to His light

ancient, new

the stillness of the sound of rushing waters

time parted before Him and closed behind Him

peace rippled from Him

this we knew this we lost

for this we long again

but children

it’s so far

so far.

The Artist sees Himself reflected

◆ Light falls and traces the edges… ◆ The Artist sees Himself reflected in all He has made ◆ The wind, the waters, the notes of harmonies cast back the image of His Spirit to His eyes, their movements like His own ◆ See Yourself most in us, Creator Jesus ◆ let the rays of Your Goodness strengthen in golden beams what is You, and harden, bleach as bone, what is not ◆ Promise to dwell, speak, and breathe inside; lift, pull, daily carry us into You–{rest} ◆ just the faintest watercolor touch, sudden release of color, is like You… Come ◆ pine is of Your encompassing Strength, mint is of Your ever-flowing Life, cinnamon is of Your welcoming Warmth ◆ a small presence before Yours, but never ignored–to offer a soul to Your Light Heart ◆ to need; to wake; is the beginning of Life in You… then, ever caught in the Unseen ◆ scintillate through all Your people, glinting from chosen faces and voices as time moves ◆ oh return with resounding clouds and un-deaf-ening thunder, swallow up Yours with dense and dancing Glory ◆ Amen





untitled (3 of 12)


tree approaching


soaring sky




untitled (8 of 12)


untitled (9 of 12)


scene of fallen log

the itch of the earth





you feel it


the itch of the earth

stillness through layers

aching for her Creator to come and rake through her sediments with strength

and sift her depths anew



you feel it

somewhere a stony vein through the center trembles

she felt His breath

an exhale slow with dew and weight

rocks lie in piles, trees drive roots deep

waters seep

all move with her movements in tides

it is not enough


listen to her restlessness

ever spinning ever still


waiting since–

the entry of white teeth

into the forbidden flesh

of a mysterious fruit,

grown of her virgin soils


creatures burrow…

can you feel it?


the itch of the earth