Reading about Dallas while sitting on a breezy deck in Tahoe

…
How is it even
possible
that the same
world that holds
this generous spill
of blue, the whisper
of aspens,

also
contains

the spew of such
hatred, the spilling of
blood, the scream
of gunfire and death?

We hold our tired
breath and wait for
love to matter, wait
for grace to be what
splatters through the
streets. As a nation
shivers, there’s a silver
sliver of lakeflow that
knows there’s

Someone
bigger,

Someone whose
hands hold these
waters and these lives,
whose heart is many
times the size of all
this mess.

And on that deck,
she
sighs,
knowing she is held.

 

..

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