DiaBLOGue

I picture it, a milky glass teardrop 
Just large enough to fill my cupped hand. 
It floats in an almost-dark cave; 
It lights the cave but slightly, casting 
Wan shadows, a vessel of music and logic 
Unknown among us. 

You wake me to the all and the every, 
You breathe me to your shattering stillness, 
Walk me to the brink of the dream 
That jerks alert. You, the nurturing darkness 

Remember, it’s a Covenant Path. 
On our way we must keep hearts 
and minds—as Brigham said— 
“riveted on the cross of Christ.” 

Your body disrupts the narrative:  
Jairus—unaccustomed to want— 
calls Jesus to pull his daughter 
from death. Jesus comes, touches 
the girl; she rises. Just like Jairus  
rehearsed it. 

Like moths summoned by the gravity of light, 
figures lean beneath sinuous white robes, their 
point of communion is clear: hands in line with 
the flame—its blade toward the earth’s unhealed