Someone asked,
“Write, will you, of evil…
bare its long projected fangs…
reveal the traces of blood it
leaves on doorposts, lentils,
and hinges.

Leave nothing out—
how it drapes itself
over the most ‘crafted’ pieces
shattering into numerous specks
never to be placed again—‘together'”

A heavy request—
I felt the weight as I lifted my pen.
The tip touched the paper—
words ‘dropped’ only to disappear
one by one they vanished.

I was ‘lifted’ not from the page
but, instead, from the enormity of the
weight I was asked to ‘reveal.’

Certainly, I know the stings
of pain, suffering—
those encounters one does not bring
on oneself (unless one chooses—
consciously or unconsciously).

I have entertained those moments…
I have learned to become a sort
of ‘host’ to them, for them.
We have sat together—
lengthy encounters.

As the host, I knew to wait.
Whatever was would leave, move on—
but, first I had to ‘dine’ with
the guest…(I suppose one could name
the encounter just about anything).

Freely, I pen these words.

I could have responded
differently to the request,
but then I would be ‘captive,’—
held against my will to write
what is NOT of me.

The one who
fills these blank canvases
is inspired by all life’s experiences.

My roots dip deeper
into the ground of all being


even if I’m dug-up
from THIS place,
I’ll grow again
in the darkness.

No matter how silky black
the night sky prevails…
the richer the void of seeing—

STARS have a way
to shine.(All Saints Day)

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