Relics

I'm learning to let good things, be good things.

A song that hold hands fondly with this lyrical piece, listen with the reading, or soon after.

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Do you have relics
forged and then found
in the hot fires
of this beautiful life?—

the long halls of art
found humming beneath skins
behind eyes
in the growing of our softer bodies—

found in the places it’s been,
and seen
and laid
and laughed,
no longer stinging
and hurting
or aching
but softly moving like little lanterns into the stories of others
with softer ears
and bouquets of tears.

This is natures work
a hallowed weaving
where art is made of our lives.

Life's art

I
am
not
a
simple
thing,
but I am mostly simple
when it comes to things.

Life is complicated enough
to be doing absurdities to coffee—
like making tiramisu.

I’m learning to let the good things,
be
good
things.

I am not simple.

I don’t want more,
if it makes less
of
the
good
I’ve
got,
or better said,
been given.

*been given

I’m learning that the adding
isn’t always broadening—
those pretty little things can be takers too.

I’ll bring in my tent pegs
to cosier perimeters
if it means
that holding my lovers hand
remains one of my most important currencies.

*An important currency

I want you
and the night time candles
and our blue and borrowed house
high on the hill
with our songs
and our poems
and our relics—

you, and the night time candles.

the ones forged in the fires
of this beautiful life
with our long halls of art
humming beneath our skins
and behind our eyes
in the growing of our softer bodies—
found in the places we have been,
and seen
and laid
and laughed.

good things

I’m learning to let the good things

be
good
things.

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Below is a recent lyrical piece that might adjoin beautifully to this reading moment if you care for some more —

Move.

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