“There is a gust of eternity in every fleeting moment.”
Marty Rubin


Your fragrance is transient
in my memory.
Your light only touches me
in ephemeral beams.
A shooting star of
a life once lived.
Waves of fleeting recollections,
fly in like fragile souvenirs.
I try to grasp
these transitory dreams,
but you evanesce
quietly back into the ether.
Like vanishing dew,
I’m left with just the
taste of your gentleness
on my skin.


“Waiting and hoping is a hard thing to do when you’ve already been waiting and hoping for almost as long as you can bear it.”
Jenny Nimmo


She waited in an
empty hallway,
ghostly images,
choked the doorway.
Her heart was a lump
in her chest;
her pulse was still,
veins compressed.
She pleaded
for some lucidity,
blinded by odious

Scenes of living
were all around;
her life force
had run aground.
malignant malaise,
her breath inevitably
Unseen tears flowed on
unhinged pain;
“will she ever be the same?”

People gathered everywhere,
in shadows,
their somber stares
Mists of consciousness,
numbed by
Nothing touched
the dingy void,
dark and deep,
light being destroyed.

Angels saw the crimson
of her shattered
A divine presence
drew her breath,
mystical strength.

Worst case scenario
brought to life
her true confessions.
She tried to grasp hope,
just out of reach
mumbled words
that she did beseech.
Her pounding heart,
evoking life,
the wonderful creation
by design.
Imprisoned by her
own isolation,
lost in discontinued

Dirty hallways
of torture “am I alive”,
she couldn’t recall
the brightness of sunshine.

Her phone buzzed;
she jumped out of her skin,
gulped air,
her head in a spin.

Is this the news
that will restart her heart
or will the anguish
just tear her apart?

When breath let her rest

“In my deepest wound I saw your glory, and it dazzled me.”
― Augustine of Hippo

woundsRaining pelts of insanity,
tore her from repose.
Clothed in blackened robes
she was driven to the edge.
Light could not pursue,
she outran its radiant beams.
But in the wake of day
when breath let her rest,
her wounds finally surrendered.
The sacred scars of adornment
became jewels of inner light.

Sacred Fire

Refiner’s fire is not easy to comprehend. Its intensity and purification are only understood by those who have been devastated by fire. I’ve recently seen a fire laid waste to the earth. It was so intense that it consumed all in its path. Worldly things got lost in the flames, but the human spirit never dies….
sacred fire
“And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast.”
Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

Overwhelmed by the intense flames,
she cried out His holy name.
Her affliction knew no relief,
soul-searching for her core belief.
Asphyxiated in the choking haze,
she could not escape the inferno’s blaze.
Crackling fears cast unwanted shame,
detachment from her feeble frame
Refiners firestorm seared her flesh,
flawed bonds that had become enmeshed.
In hopeless scenes of misery,
she shouted out for liberty.
The furnace of her own demise,
sacred souvenirs of sacrifice.
A barren land, unholy place,
ghostly landscapes being erased.
In gravesites of ash, hope was found,
germinating through hallowed ground.
Embankments of shame came tumbling down
beneath the ruins, euphonious sounds.
Rising from the embers of ravaged lands,
her sacred self, she came to understand.


“If Light Is In Your Heart
You Will Find Your Way Home.”
― Jalaluddin Rumi

In the sadness,
her embers became one
with the trees and the azure.
Her deliquescent form
merged with
the tangible universe.
Earth songs ushered her
into sacred belonging.
Sedated by
desolate darkness,
the moon’s soft glow
assuaged her disquiet.
Far from favor,
her pilgrimage
was to Zion.
Heavenly bodies summoned
her back to belief.
She was assimilated
by Divine reveries.