Into the Book


frosted windshields,
and beautiful mercy:
clear as the light
as it makes glaciers
dripping from the eaves

oh, the wonder
oh, the joy

midnight ice,
and a palette of color
to paint the woodwork with
green and white
salt and blue.

oh, the wonder
oh, the joy

thin brown packages
and loved eyes
that fill up with

green boughs,
patient and life,
pine scent, rain and dirt
soaking. glory.

out of the woodwork
oh, the wonder
oh, the joy

fading words and rust.
old notebooks.
dimmed in quiet
like candles.
I want to make you smile
because laughter
is a kind of
beautiful mercy

a palette to paint with.

oh, the wonder
oh, the joy
for the Painter has come
and we are undone
in a splash of color
brighter than we imagined
color surely dreamed

oil paintings
were gold on black
shadows before the light
like that Christmas light
by Rembrandt.

after all,
this is just a winter
of frozen seas and
northern lights
beyond the clouds stretched like
cotton ground.

oh, the wonder
oh, the joy

the sky is never fully
without character;
blue. and the stars are
pinned, out-of-reach
bright fistfuls like

oh, the wonder
oh, the joy

you are enough
because infant hands
can catch the stars
so etch the frost
in glass

because the light
the morning comes
gold, a running creek
and turns midnight ice
–frost on windshields, woodwork–
all to diamonds of painted glass

oh, the wonder
oh, the joy
oh, the morning

Published on 29 June, 2015. Last updated on

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