Hail Mary

Heaven Harsh

The blood waters at sunrise

when the Universe cuts Earth’s cord.

The gory birth of each day

reflects back on the same seas

that mothered all land.

We don't see the difference

between Stone and Bone

after 10,000 years.

Time makes the extreme tones

of heartaches and heart-fulls

equally, equatorially weird.

Heaviness is a harshness

of Heaven by necessity.

All births are messy,

but some are a real Hail Mary.

If you give me a minute,

a tiny strand of time,

I will look for you in it.

The dawn of friendship

is only

a haven of moments

when we,

you and I,

mean something in the flood.

The right wave

is a long pass,

but even if you catch it,

every offensive play,

there is no such thing as a touchdown.

What goes up only comes around

in our harsh Heaven’s heaviness.

If I give you a minute,

a bare fray of rope,

I can only hope

you'll find me in it.

Irrespective of tides,

we could rise and pearl,

flash,

then curl,

a crashing wave,

feeling the heavy birthing pull

of Heaven’s sweetest harshness,

light, and inevitable,

as a baby's breath.

All births are messy,

but love is the real Hail Mary.

Blood waters when the Universe cuts Earth's cord, reflected on the seas that mothered all land.