although this wasn't to me (maybe it wasn't to anyone), but posted on someone's facebook wall, I liked it and wanted to keep it here.
My dear bicycling sister, where are the keys to the kingdom?
In the pumpernickel bread under the hamster cage,
or where the window grows dusty at the end of a chilly,
wool scarfened day? I lost them a few days ago, but here they are!
The snow jaguar has secrets in his shoulder blades
and the kingdom of heaven is within your shoe. And the place
where you felt the sky was split in two by storm and green
and the lighthouse was divided. Was there a manatee in your dancing
when the world was young? A face looking through the slow of the day?
I think peace is a thing to say when a old song is sung again.
When we forget holiday decorations of the communist party
to identify with the old wrinkled woman loving Jesus with her hands
around a dying man who thinks his soul once belonged to Leonard
Cohen or even the lead singer of The national when he sang in
the middle of the crowd; a picture of Jesus? Is it heretical to see
a lover in the faces of strangers walking across Landis Green?
I miss the sense of time measured in potlucks and the spaces between.
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