When the rusted cut of coffee
slices through
tetnus express, I embrace
what I cannot change.
When morning breaks the mourning
of the weeping soul I left in the closet
last night, I will embrace
the embers of
the smoldering tribe.
Placing delicate fingers
retracing precious memories
the dust covered photo books
could never measure up
something tangible
something credible
If only I could touch the light
that dances off of the dust
dancing to the breeze
of my movements.
Yet, stuffing my demons
back into the chest of drawers
catching fingers along the way
I am content to remove
the cobwebs from my soul
and start again.
Pastor's Ponderings 
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