a found Facebook poem
Bo-Bo, that the Lord would just touch
you as only HE can,
and I know there is a reason
for all things,
in whom I serve,
and in whom you serve,
and Abigail serves,
and the Lord knows what HE is
and just keep on trusting HIM,
and believing
for that special healing
touch from above.
and HE will continue to carry you…
Praying for my sister
Abigail, cause I know with out
the Lord in her life,
this far in her life, but knowing
the Lord is always
beside us all
to lean on every step of the way,
is all she needs
to get through the rough patches…
What does people do
that don’t have the Lord in their
of ours. So thankful
for so many praying friends
and family. Praying for Naomi, Ruth
and Little Bo, cause I know
laying in the bed
with a major heart attack,
and not up and
about.
and all of his siblings
too. When anything like this happens
it touches the whole family,
and when Bo-Bo hurts,
is with each and every one
of them. They all
will have my continued prayers,
and all
love
The Strength in You
The Strength in You
For the lover is forever
trying to strip bare
his beloved. —Carson McCullers
I found a strand
of your blonde hair
in our bed today,
eased it over my hands
to feel its length,
raised it to my face
to savor the scent
that might remain
on a thing so small,
and then,
as I am prone to do,
gripped both ends
with determined strength
and pulled to break
the thing in two—
but lost my grip
and could not break
the smallest part
of you.
from My Travels Among the Spiders
from My Travels Among the Spiders
Sometimes, during the spring after rain
I hear the love-ruined voices
of spiders at night, walking in the trees
outside my window, stitching up lamp-light
and darkness in the limbs and leaves.
Several times before, I have stepped
quietly downstairs and hidden behind
the Privet hedge in my garden, shining
with a flashlight for the blue sparks
of spider eyes at night. I love to watch
the secret spiders play as they defy
our best-kept law—floating, mid-air, in
and out of light. I often have noticed
their legs, so much longer than stars.
Sometimes, when they are at their worst,
patching up all the trees with passion,
I have known them to stretch some fallen star
into strings of light across my usual
garden path. On these occasions,
I walk unawares into their feathery embrace.
For a moment, I am held like Gulliver
by the tiniest
of threads until I move
in the surge of my surprise and silver lines
pull loose from their moorings
in the limbs. It is then, in all directions,
that spiders abandon their play and run
on silken legs to hide their turquoise eyes
in the canopy of shadows and leaves.
