when loud sounds break silence
of sleep, making me look
for ten minutes or more

for what fell
or who screamed–
never, so far, to any avail.

The clicking you do
as you grind on the blades
of my grinder, each morning,
speaks in such ways
that a Mormon can’t know.

I wonder if you
feel the loss of your soul
as you stand firm and deep
in the filtered abode
and it rinses away from above

to join my soul–
O how it quickens my days
as if born-again life,
but refusing to stay,
I’ll need souls again.

Twins divided
by wind?
He rages in cloud, as offers are made
of height and station

and Being,
and bed pillows are tempted,
and weary rest’s stifled.
He rages,

when sand lines are shifted–
and mountains are hurled–
and islands are scattered–
and secrets remain

well beyond leaps from steeples
to save familiar people–
though not known from where or when.
Let angels catch thee

lest ye be smashed, utterly–
lest banded roots perish
in desert sands–
lest He forget His Beloved.

I’d never have thought,
if you’d have asked me back then,
that I’d be buttoning my pants
and sucking it in,

Nor would I have thought
of elastic waistbands,
nor of calorie
counting, low-carb diet plans.

What a trick God has played
that comes on us with age,
drooping and graying,
and the futile wars waged.

It’s fairly certain,
I’d say, a CD needed change,
or she’d received a text,
or something else
“important,”
else why would she call
from warmth to Mom
to bitch
of her inconvenience.