I wrote this poem a while ago...but it seems appropriate now

january sunday morning in fresno

colors I cannot name fly at me

in particle-stream-photon-waves

striking the rods of my eye at a magnificent rate

passing over and

under the pelican’s patient wings

I am anxious to know if his wing tips are

wet – they are only

one inch from the swells

poems are a great stock pot

boiling down to the sticky bottom

the tastes of all my senses

which is why at your wedding I watched everything so closely

and yet,

now the mottle on the Mesolithic bird’s back

is the same color as Nina Simone’s voice

crashing the mountains into the heart of the sea

over sunday morning tea

over heard talk about money

and nothing;

the silence of watching

is the same color as the line of sea melting

rain sometimes the naming of colors

is similar to the naming of children

colors name days and remain unnamed

casting shadows over all our conversations

how we choose our words

whether we avert our eyes

and often days are gray,

when they should be grey sea days

of my longing and aching – speaking

with rhythm

salt on my lip which

the wind dries

sea days remind me of the

Welsh grey blue green changing of the seasons

eyes of my wife

which call me to a heritage that is not my own,

eyes that speak terribly of love

divine neither of us can sound,

though the mountains should tremble at our surging

there are days when I run headlong into new words

and they break me open

tearing my heart fourteen times

cold grey rain at Laguna Beach at your

wedding slips of the seals’ oily skin

I am soaked -

by mud of colors I have named

speak to me in the language of moment

phrases that twist my tongue which I cannot learn

‘less I am taught one by one

starting with salt stinging my eyes

battering my rods with a brilliant array and speed and size

giving me five, eight, ten more senses until I

can pronounce the joy color of wind making my

skin leather and my heart

no longer just moving blood in my veins

but beating in a solid world of light

It is raining...

Hi. I am Jonathan Capp. Have we met?

Actually, I am about to post a post. Here I am, posting a post. I am the lone member of the Accommo team working today (and yesterday for that matter), and I decided to clean Cedar Lodge. Check that one off the list. My next task: begin to think about how to help someone else do my job. Yep. Anne and I are moving back to the homeland in June. Anne is going to attend the University of Colorado at Denver to get a teaching certificate, and I am going to work.

So I have spent enough time thinking about what our life is going to be like in Denver, and I have come up with very little. I do know that God knows where we are going to live, where we are going to work, who our new friends will be, and what part of what [lower-case] body we will be. If I am just supposed to trust about my future, then it is time to help out somebody else's future.

I can't decide what rule number one is. It is either "Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today" or "Never serve yourself first, ever." Sometimes they are the same rule, I suppose; most times I prefer the first to the second, and I, much too often, I follow neither. The other first rule might be "the Lord delights in my honest offerings" followed quickly by "with God all things are possible."

I suppose these rules might work for anyone, as long as you are willing to live whole-heartedly. I'm trying. Jesus loves me.

until then