walk over wire

ill fight you baby
fight for the cause
wrap myself in fire
break my soul for your laws
I'll carry the burden
rub my skin bare
i'll do it sweet thing
just to show that i care

i'll praise the witches of eastwick
Jack Nicholson too
bow down to the stories

you hold tight and you hold true
i'll carry the blame
I'll bury your share
i'll do it sweet thing
just to show that i care
i'll do it sweet thing
just to show that i care

i can give it all
and I won't beg for a ring
but my love won't mean nothing
if the sparrow can not sing

i'll make toast in the morning

bake a sweet cherry pie

walk over wire

40 feet in the sky
i'll cradle your babies

wash your soft dirty hair

i'll do it sweet thing

just to show that I care

i'll risk my reputation
wear the mark of shame
build a fortress for you
be the tiger you can tame
i'll study your secrets
just like a prayer
i'll do it sweet thing
just to show that i care.
i'll do it sweet thing
just to show that i care.

i can give it all
and I won't beg for a ring
but my love won't mean nothing
if the sparrow can not sing

for dad, the 87th year

you would be 87 on Friday
and we would give you butter
with bread.

in my mind i stand in the old kitchen.
i smell your burnt toast
and hear you smile.
'it's good. it will put hair on your chest.'

competition for you was complex
and ran deep among us.
nine children needing
needing
needing
needing
needing
needing
needing
needing
needing.

for some, there was more than enough.
for others, there was never enough.
somewhere in the middle lies the truth.

i remember being on a ship in Canada after the divorce
and a woman told you what great legs you had.
your eyes lit up in confusion.

there were nine of us.
plus you, plus mom.
22 hands, 11 hearts
needing love, attention, bread, butter, forgiveness.

the earth has turned five years
and nine of us are all still down here in need.

somewhere out there,
as atoms or soul
in space and time and beyond,
i hope you realize how great your legs were
and how much hair we have on ours chests.

willing

caught up in notions familiar from birth
what once was comfortable won't always bring comfort.

i am reborn again against your skin.

inside your compassion pressed upon my chest
there is safety for spirit.
there is trust for touch.
there is water for washing.

our hips curve with wisdom.
our lips flush with fervor.
our bellies are full.

unknown shapes and unseen colors
unfold on the horizon
and my legs shake with grace.

i am willing love.