Sitting outside against the bakery’s brick wall

under a yellow glow, the spacious window

captures friendship at a table.

The sleepy sun yields to lamp-lit smiles,

laughter spilling loud into the streets—3 men with soft hearts.


Indigo ink sky, the headlights catch seas of corn,

Thousands and thousands of stalks disappearing into the darkness.

Windows down, a swelling voice escapes in the wind gusts:

“We are not alone, no I’ve seen the shadows on the stone

creeping out from the sun that splits the night,

I’m breaking at your love.”


We take the gravel path to the water’s edge,

and wade through the blind ocean

surrounded by wooded prophets,

ancients who have whispered the wonder on our lips

long before we could ever look up.


On our backs, six eyes pulled out into a sea of eyes,

the vast, never-ending, spilling with fiery flickerings—

and nothing is under us.

Mars hums orange, a steady porch light to guide the weary home.

Cumulonimbus hides stormy Jupiter, advancing

on us with electric exhalations,

pulses of violet and white.


We are human,

held fast to a roving planet of stories stitched with open hands,

illuminated in the chasing of a Father’s delight.

Every single one of our days is steeped

in fingers pointing toward the stars,

Searching for streaking comets—the whispers of God,

and friends filling the darkness with laughter.


(song quote from “Birthmark” by Your Friendly Neighborhood)

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