i got nattering gnats that pinch and pry
i got parched sunbeams that drink me dry

i got restless train tracks that go nowhere
i got lily-white preachers that smell like a snare

i hear it come and it’s always the same
i shake my fist at the pouring rain

i got crosses, canyons, desert, and lace
i got maple winters burnt by fate

i got vulture voices hollow and lack
i got drowned old saints in a flaming pack

i hear it come and it’s always the same
i shake my fist at the pouring rain

i got selfish bumblebees buried alive
i got chains of worth stretched nine to five

i got crisscrossed pockets, five soon late
i got hidden fog that jumps its gate

i hear it come and it’s always the same
i shake my fist at the pouring rain

i hear it come but it’s never the same
i stretch my hands out toward the rain

beauty is as soft as a butterfly wing and as fierce as the truth.

beauty is in a single tear and in a burst of uncontrollable laughter.

beauty is as hard as a diamond and as supple as a blade of grass.

beauty is in a shy glance and in a powerful stride.

beauty is a prayer, a sigh, a whisper.

{my attempt to capture 52 photos that represent trust – my word for 2011}.

trusting in

the light
and the dark,

the up
and the down,

the hard
and the soft.

the lines,
and all the spaces in between.

{my attempt to capture 52 photos that represent trust – my word for 2011}.

i
look around
all around
up, down, sideways

waiting
hoping
that someone
anyone
(but not just anyone)
(only the right someone)
will tell me
what to do
(what to think, how to feel, who to be)

when i know
of course i know
i always know
the answer

the answers are there
hiding
(not hiding at all)
waiting
hoping
sitting in the silence

i hear them
of course i hear them
i have always heard them

my work
(the work of a lifetime)
is in finding the courage
to follow them