“…or we can explain further

that story gives truth meaning 

like Aesop’s fables 

and Lewis’s Narnian Chronicles 

or better yet

think of Christ’s agrarian parables

that strum the soul

on a spiritual level

with a celestial harp of gold 

and hands of clay that bleed when cracked.”

Our reassurance

is His willingness

to be caught in the cross hairs,

a red dot

at the intersection

of an atoning fare

and a predetermined time-slot.

Give me Narnia or 

Give me the Wild Lands of the North. 

Give me Aslan or 

Give me the White Witch

and her black dwarfs.

God: “Truth is self-love that sets you free and enables you to see your sin as an opportunity to talk with Me about why you sin so we can have conversations like this one and walk further down life’s path together. This is My heart. This is discipleship.”

A curl within a curl within a curl ad infinitum.   A turquoise fractal with salty skin and a wicked tongue.   The golden ratio— multiplying itself in eternal swirls— a pillow for Poseidon.   I stare out at the horizon, blue walls of hydrogen and oxygen molecules holding hands   as I listen with…

Open your eyes.

See the bioluminescence,

ascending rhythmically

up,

up

from the abyss,

or God’s firework show

descending hazily

down,

down

in dancing waves of light,

the Holy Grail of sky watching,

the aurora borealis,

the northern lights.

Former political debaters

and Facebook haters

sheath their swords

of “cancellation”

and get the ultimate do-over,

a hard-drive scrub,

the perfect social media experimentation.

This poem is for all of us,
horse lovers,
who feel that horses
make the world
a better place.

Everyone wants to know

life’s greatest mystery.

It’s simple:

read your history

and exchange your brokenness for beauty,

your porcelain mask for the Japanese art

of Kintsugi.

Androgynous highs and lows—

testosterone freezes

and estrogen flows

like snow,

sun-bathin on top of Kilimanjaro,

meltin glaciers below.