Death

And death
should be undone.
No more the aching cry,
the empty chasm
where goodness once had been.
No shadow bearing down
upon our bright and festal days.
No lowering mist to darken
every birth and morning.
No fear that makes us
hold too hard to every
simple gift
lest it be gone forever.
And when I cry
for my own
dying self.
I do this
to undo death:
I go not to where the ashes
turn again to dirt, to dust,
but to the thorny bush
where roses grow
and life is lit,
for just a little time,
with love.

--Timothy Haut, March 25, 2016

Meal

Around the table
the voices rise and fall,
a story is told,
a litany of remembrance
is recited,
and an echo of laughter
reminds us of this goodness
that binds us.
As the candles burn on,
glowing in the ruby wine,
and the bread is broken
and the dishes passed
from one to another,
there is always a moment
when the flames flicker
as if an unseen presence
stirs the air.
It is, I know,
the one not with us,
the one who loves us still,
who has heard the laughter
and come to linger for a while,
to offer a tender blessing
on this holy
meal.

--Timothy Haut, March 24, 2016

Question

Why
is
this 
broken,
battered,
cruel,
cancerous,
terrifying,
twisted,
sorrowful,
senseless,
desperate,
dying
world
so
beautiful?

--Timothy Haut, March 23, 2016

Chains

We are shackled, held
by such sturdy chains:
the beliefs beaten into us
that bind us beyond usefulness,
strong as steel--
the chains which imprison our hearts,
rip us raw, stay us from joy,
rob us of the freedom
that our souls seek.
These rusted links last
through years, lifetimes,
fastened by an iron lock.
But here is the secret,
the liberating truth
which must be discovered
by those who would be unbound:
we each own the key.

--Timothy Haut, March 22, 2016

Bless

Each of us has a well
that reaches deep into
living water,
from which love flows.
Out of it
we draw a sweet drink,
and share it:
tenderly hold a baby
who cries to be touched,
put arms around a lonely friend,
nestle a seed into fallow soil,
knead a knotted muscle,
sing when a heart is breaking.
At that moment
a touch is a miracle,
a simple meal is a sacrament,
a smile is a benediction.
We are humble, holy creatures,
shining,
when we do ordinary things
to bless,
to bless.

--Timothy Haut, March 21, 2016

Parade

There is always
a parade.
Some are all pride and glory--
bands and flags and uniforms
with gleaming rifles in array
snaking their way through crowds,
hats raised, cheering
to the thunder of drums.
Some are processions
of tears and sorrow,
the riderless horse, the bowed heads,
the heavy silence,
always, it seems, under dark clouds
shrouding the brightest day.
But I think my parade will wind away,
off the beaten path
and everyone will be in it,
dogs and cats, too.
We'll leave our footprints in the sand,
skip stones in the water,
sing songs until dark
and pass out cupcakes by firelight
before we go home to sleep
and dream about
the great, good parade
that goes on, and on.

--Timothy Haut, March 20, 2016

Morning

Come morning,
almost before light,
my dreams slip away

into wakefulness.
Outside the window,
one bird calls, then another,
and a car rolls by, off to somewhere.
I swing the old legs out of bed,
feel the floor on bare feet,
realize that the world
is still under me.
I recognize it,
this good, familiar place,
pause for a moment to take it in:
the dog sprawled out
on his back,
the woman I love,
her face buried in a pillow,
a cat curled in the curve
of her arm.
They will sleep on, for a while.
But they are awake
in me,
bright as sun,
my morning,
my life.

--Timothy Haut, March 19, 2016