I never heard the soldiers come

I sleep-walked through Gethsemane
thousands of years ago
I never heard the soldiers come
the sinful echo
on a loud, fitful shore.

When I opened my eyes
the dawn was crowing
and I hid my eyes in shame-silence
that with ruffled sorrow
I abandoned you on the way
to Golgotha.


The mediocre is drawing me downward-drowning
and I run back to my home-dungeon
buried half-naked in the groundling-dark
because the midnight
was all I ever knew
in the circumference of my soul

But I know one desperate, painful-cry
and you will lift me from the mire
fit my robe
with angelwings
and show me that I was meant for better
"just enough."

Poem: Valley


You were so near,
so clear,
before I entered the valley
as I withdrew my mustard seed
and used it to cut through mountains
put on my sandals
and have locust and honey
for dessert
and the world was re-centered
through my pain.

Now in the valley
views, I rough with the
hum of complacency
of dishes in the sink
milk that's gone bad
and TV reruns
and I almost wonder
if the mountain lofty
happened at all

 All poetry copyright (c) The Artsy Episcopalian.