a prayer

Jesus, take me o'er

and pilot now my course.

My hands, my feet, my mind, my soul

surrendered, I am yours.

Abide with me anon

and into every day.

Alone, awake, adrift, apart,

a sinner, I have strayed.

What voice disturbs my soul,

and wherefrom is my peace?

The same, from first and to the last,

my Jesus, my release.

behind my eyelids

sudden gusts from the storm outside
remind me that i am still alive,
still a part of this world that i see
and feel,
but do not know.
the earth is spinning faster
than this chill that finds my face,
bringing tears i wipe away with my wrist.
warm to cool, self to storm.
i have not thought as i usually do
about the forces pushing, swirling, and embracing me.
i have not been one for words.
no, not like i usually am.
yet i have not been in want of words;
they’ve come.
at my fingertips—
the same ones that freeze in my pockets now—
symbols spill and spew in some kind of meaning,
meaning i have chosen for you.
this is what i want to tell you.
what i cannot say
appears in the color of my eyes.
this i cannot control or describe.

i have spoken of a place behind my eyelids,
and this wind feels like the wind of that place.
the air is black—
not polluted or clouded,
but black.
here, my eyes are open though i feel them closed.
here, i know for certain what i merely entertain in the light…

here, i come upon fields of tall grass,
dull brown and green,
in rows of waves that roll and sway
as though they were under water.
at the edge, the harvest has begun,
the waves have been driven back.
one man holds the blade,
and i know this man.
he reads and writes slowly,
pen and paper a hindrance rather than a tool
for his thoughts
just yet.
he writes to me…
he writes the truth,
and in the sun, we shed our tears.
his hands folded in their own struggle,
a picture of our hearts
as we part ways.

this is the place
behind my eyelids
at night.