A year ago, I moved into the city – which prompted a deluge of writings on Baltimore. Here is one of them:

The Basilica
The fallen and felled
Rise up row upon row
The basilica stands tall and weeps

The savvy businessman
Between Charles and Light
Calmly tours the buildings and streets
Then home to his
Columbia, Towson, and White.
As into the city, the darkness will creep.

The Basilica stands
Way up on the hill
Lifting her skirts, exactly just so
Prominently hidden
She looks on as she weeps,
For her Constellation dying below.

The checkered blocks of rich and poor
Meld into rings and tears and plight
Somehow far away
The deciders and quakers
Close their ears, close their eyes
Tight. Tight. Tight.

And the Basilica turns
Quiet and still
No longer weeping
from her view on her hill.
– Oct 24, 2009

So after visiting with so many friends in Seattle from different parts of my life, I couldn’t help but think about all the moves I’ve had in the last 10 years…

I have
Fought and pursued change
Loved and hated leaving
Ignored and exploited movement

And found myself
Still
In
The paradigm of flux
That overused word:
“Transition”
A cause and effect term
Of galvanized daring
(or dreaming?)
Paradox of pain and grace
Defining perspective and process

Still
Only
Coming to the point of a
January-to-December longing for a reason to stay

Just came back from Seattle and visiting…and visiting..and visiting…loved it

There’s something about seeing an old friend
Like finding that favorite book after so long
History fills the comfortable silence
Unnecessary talk siphoned down
To depth of care.

I know you.

And that feels good.

Tomorrow morning, I fly to SEA via ORD from BWI and catch myself calling cities by their airport names…
…so just a little ditty:

Hello O’Hare
We meet again
Neoned tunnel
Flashing over me
As I run to catch my delayed flight.

Hello PDX,
Granola carvings, jewelry, stones
Calls to me as I hug
Long-ago seen family.

Hello Changi
Malls, hotels
Disguise your purpose
For international ins and outs.

I’m only passing through…

It feels so strange to write again
Like stretching after a long night’s sleep
My fingers feel anxious
Itching to write anything
Everything
Even as my brain tries to eke out
Just a few interesting thoughts.
My mind tries to form back into the writing state
The foggy articulation needed for poetry
The transcendence of tyrannizing taste of WORD.

It feels so good to write again.

Hope for all that was
And could be
Hope for the un-bitten apple
Hope for the lonely tree
Hope for not blaming other people
Or hiding amongst the leaves
Hope for the cool of the day
Hope for walking free

Faith in the blamers
The biters
The hiders
Faith in those that are flawed
Faith in the collector
Deniers
Betrayers
All for the Lamb of God.

Love included in all
Of Eden and east of Eden
The unchosen, unwise, unknown
Love for those with the past
No future
Love for beginnings
Forsaken, alone
And triumphed,

All are forgiven

at last.