dedicated to Robert Collins, 1966-1990

Waiting late into the night
I think of one now departed
Having taken an early flight

As I fill my time long overdue
Among the seats and shops and lines
With idle dreams and things to do

How long now have I been away
Reaching out to friends both near and far
Who beckoned me to stay?

But it won’t be long now
Before I hear the voice overhead
And I arise as if to take my bow

And board my skyward sleepy tomb
Am carried past the moonlit stars
to my anticipated home.

For now I think of things to do
But know full well a terminal
Is just for passing through.

© 2013 D. Patrick Collins

in all of Creation
there are photons and protons
and neutrons and electrons
and the small space between

there are the stars and planets
and black holes and comets
and pulsars and quasars
and systems and galaxies and constellations
and the small space between

there is rock and dry ground and ocean
there are bacteria and algae and fungi and plankton
and amphibian and reptile and bird and mammal
on land, the sky above and the waters below:
there is life and non-life
and the small space between

there are principles and laws
there are formulas and facts and figures
and numbers and logic and reason
there is what we call rational thought
there is imagination
there is right and wrong and virtue and beauty and truth
which we deny and affirm by our own denial:
there is consciousness and non-consciousness
and the small space between

there is the eternal: both God and Heaven
and angels and demons
and powers and principalities and rulers
and seraphim and cherubim
and all the heavenly hosts
who observe and participate in
the tragedy that is mankind:
there is the seen and unseen
and the small space between

but in all of Creation
there is but one to whom it is said:
For God so loved the world He gave His only Son
That whoever believes shall not perish but live forever
That one is us: We are the Whoever
of the the dust of the earth but alive and conscious
who with one word may be right with the Father

and the small space between.

like electricity love is
environment friendly

like solar panels it
draws strength from beyond

like wind turbines in the desert it
blows where it wills

it is ubiquitous: not a place on earth exists
where it is not to be found.

further, love is ever-renewable and inexhaustible;
to it there is virtually no end.

But it has been found that
harvesting it is highly problematic

it is disruptive to any man-made system and
contaminates any process put in place to divert it

for consumable use. Confinement
and containment are virtually impossible

and for this reason it is
considered to be neither safe, nor viable.

© 2013 D. Patrick Collins

Last time You were here
You were the worst guest.
Nosy as ever: Not staying put
Walking the halls, trying every door
Asking: What’s in here? I had to rush over
And say: Look here, that is none of your concern.
Please go back with the others.

You gave me no rest making me keep an eye
Though the house was secure and the places off limits were safely locked
And I alone having the key.

And when You felt your presence no longer welcome
You turned as you were leaving and said: “Is it not very tiring
Keeping all those doors locked from the guest
The moment he knocks till he departs
Especially from you, a guest in your own home?”

But I need someone I can trust now while away
So here are all the keys in my possession.
And let me take time to go over
All the rooms, both on and off limits
And all you should know about those rooms
And the shape and color of the keys that unlock the doors,
Each one.

And upon my return perhaps You can be the host
And I the guest You entertain.

You who first entrusted this house to me.

© 2013 D. Patrick Collins