At The Potter's House

When the dust settles

            The desert will be revealed.

What was thought to be present will be gone.

What was never known will be a cactus prick

            To your fingertip.

The noise never stops,

No matter where I go

The noise never stops,

Inside my head

The noise goes with me.

            I can’t ask why.

            I can’t ask how.

The train’s whistle is now far far away,

And like a long gone star

The train is dead.

No more.

In the early hours of the morning

I put on my socks,

I tie my shoes.

I awake before the sun.

The birds awake before me.

But I cannot sing,

I have not a song.

My vocal chords are silent,

And they shall be for

Many more hours to come.

The fields need tending:

            Water the crops.

            Kill the weeds.

            Remove the rocks.

The earth is unforgiving.

            Every day I pray

            To be swallowed by her.

Every day I pray

            That she will reprimand me

            For all the things I have done to her.

Why do you remove my trees?

Why do you move my rocks?

Why do you plant such rigid rows on my rolling hills?

Every day I pray

            To be struck down by her,

            -Hated by her,

            -Loved by her.

But the earth is unforgiving.

The pain is and always will be mine alone.

The air is heavier today

Than it was yesterday.

The western winds push through

            Dark dense clouds.

I witnessed it all

            With my own two eyes.

But still no words come.

Still my mouth is silent.

You never tried to stop me.

You never tried to save me.

You never tried to make

            Me see that nothing would ever change,

But you knew.

Once my love was wrapped

            around your finger.

Now it still is, but I have fled you both.

Like a stone cold fool I ran away,

Seeking new heights, new horizons.

But I wasn’t fool enough

            to not look back.

I failed.

I am now nothing more than a refugee.

I finally made it home.

My wife and my daughter,

            both in bed, sleeping sound.

I finally made it home.

The cold cold rain still coming down.

I hang my hat.

I untie my shoes.

I lie down on the couch

            and I close my eyes.

It’s almost midnight.

I will let them sleep.

Tomorrow I will kiss them.

Tomorrow I will hug them.

Tomorrow I will tell them

            I am home.

The war is over.

            I am home.

I don’t understand.

You said you would

Be there.

But you weren’t.

Why?

Why weren’t you?

I look down into the well

            where moments ago

            I threw down my penny.

I’ve strayed so many times,

            if the fire were to come

            it would surely consume me.

A lump of clay I pray

            That someday

            He may

            Mold me to

            Hold something.

It appeared to be a person’s face,

but I can’t be sure.

It was dark,

not well-lit,

every other street lamp,

            burned out.

Can I ever forget?

Could Iever forgive?

            Countless memories sting my brain.

Regretfully, I cringe

            At the many thoughts of the past flung

            Through my head.

Unkowing,

Unwilling.

            I wish them gone

            I wish my head clear.

Empty is the vessel

Which can receive.

Only the vessel

Which is empty.

He hesitated the first

time he touched her.

And every touch thereafter

He attempted to vanquish the first…

To erase the first touch,

To redeem hesitation

…if only…

…if only…

…if only…

The vessel must be empty.

I hoard what I have,

I crave what I don’t have.

            Hoarding.

            Craving.

            Possession obsession.

I dig my fingers in,

I press them into my belongs.

I make my mark, property

Mine!

Releasing only to grasp for more…

Only to reign in more...

Only to acquire more.

The vessel must be empty.

When the fire comes…

            Blazin’

            Crackin’

            Rushin’

Tell me what it is

My love.

What it is that

Weighs on you.

My love,

You can escape…

Don’t think you can’t.

The door is not locked.

It is not even closed.

Go ahead.

Look out.

See for yourself.

Tell me what it is

My love.

The second time

I applied what I

Learned from the

First time.

Slowly sping the wheel,

Not too fast,

Don’t be hasty.

There is not hurry.

But don’t hesitate.

Gently

Smoothly.

Don’t think too hard.

Don’t think too hard.

Don’t think too…

There’s a locomotive whirlwind

Rumbling through

The valley.

Kickin’ up the dust,

Blurring the horizon.

Beside the couch

I doze.

My eyes can’t stay open.

Sleep I may

But rest I won’t.

It is no use,

We will continue

With our plans.

The rain won’t let

Up today.

But I’m home,

It’s all that matters

Right now.

Soon it will be dawn,

Soon I will greet

My family.

Many long years,

Separated.

The noise never stops.

Swing.

I bring it down.

Swing.

Down to the ground.

My back brakes,

My skin burns,

Blisters on my ankles.

Swing.

If brings me down.

Swing.

Down to the ground.

Granite dreams lit by a

Rising foreign star,

Casting ancestral shadows

On transparent earth.

My wife is in the shower,

My daughter, still in bed.

They have yet to realize

My presence.

I take my cereal,

I take my coffee

To the backyard

And shield my eyes

From the east.

I don’t have enough time

To hurry.

The wheel keeps spinnin’

Whether or not

I’m on it.

Whether or not

I see it,

Hear it,

Feel it.

Either way

It keeps spinnin’.

Perhaps I’ll hear the word someday,

Perhaps I’ve already heard it

Perhaps I wasn’t listening.

A more tragic story cannot be told.

Waiting,

She rocks out her time.

Thirty years a widow.

Back and Forth,

Waiting for death

To come.

Back and Forth.

I don’t measure

Out my doses anymore,

I just eye it up.

Whatever it takes,

I don’t count anything

Anymore.

Not the silver I have,

Not the gold I’ve lost.

The cost now goes uncounted.

Back to the fields,

Another wet morning.

Back to the fields,

I’ve finished my breakfast.

Back to the fileds,

But first I must

Wash my bowl.

I greet my dreams

With a timid hand.