John 11

Are there not twelve hours of daylight?
Too many to salvage the sleep I've missed,
listening to the crying calls,
my sleepless children.
Too little waking hours to spend time
with them that they will remember, building
tracks for wooden trains, building
blocks into wobbly towers, building
beds in the living room to pretend
to sleep.

February 19, 2009

As the snow returns in winter,
i return to simple desires;
my wife's head upon my shoulder,
my son's hands through the back of my hair,
Your voice soft in my sleepy ears,
and a deep chair, to watch and hold,
and finally close my eyes until spring.

Day 66: Morning

Psalm 131

At the end of this day,
i will lean back on Your breast;
and i will rest. Father, i will not

ponder politic or purpose,
but my fingertips will rise and fall
like gentle breaths, softly

across Your bearded countenance.
i will bury bloodshot eyes,
rubbed red, raw, and stressed,

into the crook of Your neck.
i will run grasping hands,
opening and closing in pursuit

of affection, through the lightest
locks that fall from Your hushed head.
i will lay down in that bed

and neither toss nor turn,
as You lay a blanket over me,
renewing me with sleep.