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Anjali Mudra

(x = space)

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Anjali Mudra

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What does love say

On this or any other

Plain day?

The sun is out for now

Dust is settled

Here and there

Some of the folds

In the blankets have been

Smoothed out

It is a lonely day,

And that’s all right

Not as a concession

But as a source

For small peace

That could be broken

Should the phone

Be lifted

And knowing that,

There is no desperation

A quiet day

An ordinary day

A day between the holidays

As most of our days are

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Nothing to own

Gifted

Are the seconds and

The minutes, the hours

And the dust

Our scant possessions

No matter how tall

Or deep

They can’t defeat

The mountains

Or the trenches of the deep

We can coexist

There is no point

In conquest

When nature rolls everything

At last

Into the waiting ground

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Fight it

Or have

A knowing peace

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C L Couch

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Photo by Levi Meir Clancy on Unsplash

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An Officer Is Mourned

(x = space)

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An Officer Is Mourned

(William Lebo)

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It’s on TV

Today is a memorial

For a local cop

Who died when shot

Back of the house

Whose killer was then

Killed

The loop was made

The circle’s closed

There is black

There are flowers

There are photographs

There is the coffin

Good things are said

By the pastor

It is a few days before

Palm Sunday

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C L Couch

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Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

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Create in Me

(x = space)

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Create in Me

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The Spirit of God

Might not

Be inside the tree

But the Spirit

Might dance with the tree

And many trees

From time to time

I don’t know

How things are invested

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The Spirit of God

Might be in the tree

When exigency

Requires

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God is a rock

As a metaphor

But not the real thing

Having made the real thing

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There is that

Burning bush

That burned and didn’t burn

God used

And rearranged

The matter of

The bush in that encounter

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So maybe with the atoms

Of existence

The Lord loves to live beside

God or God’s agents

Asking for

Rearrangements

From time to time

To suit a miracle

A message for

Sixth-day creations

Who can have God inside

Intertwining

Spirits

When desired

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C L Couch

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Photo by Conscious Design on Unsplash

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Blue-Rolling Justice

(x = space)

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Blue-Rolling Justice

(Amos 5:24)

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More than a trope

Don’t make a meme

(a meme would be mean)

The Lord is real

And eminent

Faster than electrons

And so much more long-lasting

Than a fashion

Let your justice roll, O Lord,

In a world that doesn’t want

To know you

Or obey you

That keeps your name

As fodder for cursing

I know, it sounds Sunday School

Or Hebrew school

Or teaching in the mosque

Or learning circles elsewhere

But too bad

You don’t want to acknowledge

Someone larger, someone

Who could teach us

Perfect love

To keep us from assaulting,

Killing each other

Then takes your chances

With revelation

And apocalypse when

They cannot be denied

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C L Couch

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Photo by Susan Wilkinson on Unsplash

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Crisscross

(x = space)

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Crisscross

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I creak around

The morning

Bending my knees

To write

As if I’m meeting

Someone who sits

On the other

Side of fire

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A wilderness of

Understanding,

A meeting with a muse or

God whose presence

Is apparent

Is ennobled

In the fire

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C L Couch

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Photo by Timothy Meinberg on Unsplash

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Servicing

(x = space)

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Servicing

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God,

I often talk to you

In thought

Do you hear me?

I hope so,

Because I rarely

Think about it

Twice

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Do you need

The uttered word?

I’d think

You wouldn’t,

Though maybe

My part

Is to speak

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I think I let you in

A while ago,

You see

And while you’re

There

You might as well

Have the run

Of the place

Including the talking parts

That happen

On the inside

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Life in the Spirit,

I believe,

With an angel’s assist

I hope it works

This way

I’ll pray out loud

As well

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C L Couch

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Photo by Emil Widlund on Unsplash

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Let Me Tell You about My Day

(x = space)

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Let Me Tell You about My Day

(first hour or so)

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Pre-dawn

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Blue

And if you look into it,

A promise of silver

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In a while,

The mourning doves might call

Take over for the cardinals

And the robins

Who might be louder elsewhere

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The doves

Sing us into green

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Town noise might subsume

The outside sounds

(except the doves who

are right against the window)

Except that it is Sunday

So the morning

Should be

Relatively quiet

For nature’s sentineling

And mine

We’ll find out

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As for other senses,

Touch and smell and taste

Should have their turns

You might

Guess at the prospects

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There’s still a war

Two wars, three wats

Still a virus

Many viruses

People will die today

And people will be born into

Air-breathing life

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I’m a little late

Proposing all of this

Because the coffee cup

Slipped from my hand

And all the coffee

Slid

Down the down the

Sides of everything,

Flat surfaces

And cushioned

(a play of surface tension

and of gravity),

To land upon the floor,

Most of it

Slight sweet

More creamy than sweet

An expensive brand

Though not a kind

More dear

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So I took time to

Clean the mess:

To clear out things,

Take things

To the sink

Where I’ll deal with them,

Sponge and paper towels

And cleaner for

The rest, for the floor

Now things have to dry

Then to be

Cleaned again

And there’s more coffee

To take out from

Its machine

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Sigh,

One of those days

And what does that mean?

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I see

The blue

And sense a silver promise

Like new friends

In a scouters’ song

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I reckon now

You’ll have a day to survey

Finally

Of many hours

I’ll look forward to any

Of that story that

Might come my way

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C L Couch

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Before Dawn

Photo by Tao Yuan on Unsplash

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Common Passion

(x = space)

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Common Passion

(Lent)

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O God, our help

Help me

Christ will be entering

Jerusalem soon

That’s too much for me

I wouldn’t go

I don’t like crowds

And as for all the blood

That follows

There was a crowd for that

As well

I’m not sure

Where I fit in

In the Passion story

To hear it, I suppose

Find my way to talk about it

Wish so much of it

Had not happened,

Starting with the first

Beating

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Who are you?

What is your authority?

What is truth?

Skeptic questions

Without the thorns,

They could be honest

Without the torture

One might really want

To know

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We can ask

Without all that

It’s been done for us

As story

As clean pages in a book

That might get stained

With water

Or with coffee

Accidents happen

So does providence

A week away

We’ll find out how it goes

I’ll take the quieter vantage point,

Thank you

After the crowds have gone

Maybe I’ll get a glimpse

Of the body

As it’s taken

Or the bodies of the thieves

Taken to paupers’ graves

Most likely,

Since there were no placards

On their crosses

Or on mine

Or maybe yours

Who were they?

Who am I?

Who are we?

We die without accord

Because no one knows

Our faces

Or our places

We die in a city at

The center of the Earth

Too much is happening there

Move on

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C L Couch

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Photo by 𝗔𝗹𝗲𝘅 𝘙𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘳 on Unsplash

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To the Cat Who Called at 3 a.m.

(x = space)

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To the Cat Who Called at 3 a.m.

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Caterwauling

(must be how we got the word)

I open the door, look down

Into round eyes,

Fuzzy-looking face, striped fur

You come in

Walk around, inspecting

You like to have me pet your face

And around your ears

I try to pick you up

That does not go well

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So I leave you to explore

Find all the levels

Try them out

You knock some things over

I sit until you jump on me

Time for more petting

Then we’re tired

‘Cause it was already late

I leave the door ajar

Lie down

I wake up, there you are

Close by

Looking sleepy, too

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After a while, you leave

You meow some more

But now it’s daytime

Better for meows’ acceptance

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Later on, it’s quiet

You had made another visit

Here,

Then gone out

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I trust you are back in your place

I hope it’s a good one

Feel free to drop by

Again

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C L Couch

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Photo by Bogdan Farca on Unsplash

not the cat (but looks like)

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