there is a waterfall from my heart out of my eyes.
I get watery sightings in emotional atmospheres.
there must be mountain tops where I care endlessly
and the rain there is constantly conscious but not known.
I’m with down slopes and in valleys of receivership.
every time I look skyward, that must be a form of prayer.
if compassion and empathy are environment and terrain
then my spiritual name must mean, “you are here”.
I am a tent city that people come into unsuspecting.
words there, are made of graffiti and debris, anguished.
emotional shrapnel pouring in weightless muted wounds.
glee drained from the eye-vials of smiles, now haunting.
loud noise fills the air with tight-lipped dignity swallowed.
there is a chorus of forlorn that is sung as breath travels.
these people are wearing that mountaintop down as journey.
I look out at the God that is presently answering my prayers.
love is all around to wash up in, moment by moment.
the heart sees beyond, what the human professes as fears . . .