Songs Only God Can Hear

Popcorn and coffee for breakfast.

Deer tracks in a near slumbering garden. Hours bent over the earth, hands and knees style, digging out thousands of rooted acorns. My fingers bleed a little. I fantasized about someone reading poetry aloud as I worked and then me saying, “hey, a little help would be good, too” and then I would be soft tackled into the mossy ground and given a deep, full kiss, reaching beyond the cosmos.

A good pair of wire cutters seems essential. After staking the compost area, I wrestle and wrap it with chicken wire. The air is crisp and sun-filled – perfect for drying leaves to store for winter. I pack and settle them for the coming months.

While I work, my body sings songs only God can hear.

In my quest to understand who I am, this being cannot forget what she was made for. So she likes sunny days; so she likes handling the earth; so she likes being bound a little when making love. But how much does any of that really matter if the extension Love is not obvious and overflowing?

Marriage supports me but does it support us in the context of extension?

What is holy does not obey the laws of man. This and other truths that refuse to stay buried.

At 4 a.m. the dog tousles with an opossum. The orange fingernail moon hooks my heart and strings me along in stillness for the rest of the day. Every choice has already been made; let us rejoice and be glad!