Secret Covenant

You and I stand, fingers interlocked
Eyes opened with the wonder of opposites

A question just there beyond speaking -
Showing itself in the way you squeeze my hand.

Now a picture comes to me
Of both of us standing before a split in God’s teeth,

Only a quickening rumble in my chest tells me
You have allowed me to feel all that you could.

Nothing that we’ve written,
Nothing we can say.

We stand tangled
The causes behind this awakening leaving no evidence.

July 26, 2001

To Alex

You, the brown haired boy playing with sticks
Dream them into people and change their names at will.
Stick men who walk where you tell them to
And speak in a language they and you know.

For this brotherhood of stick people,
Assume trust and a common set of motives.
It is your world to make as you please.

Then, when you roll your eyes up
Reloading from the candy in the top of your brain,
Bring your stick men to me.
I ask to be part of your tribe.

Work this union of image
And build it if you can my young friend.
Let sticks make your stories
Until their little voices no longer come
You will grow the hands to build and rebuild

Be that one to bring forth what our doubts deny.

July 16, 2001