Joni Moosman

My Husband is like warm weathered wood
A twisted cedar on the desert floor,
touching the oppressive sands of times.
Never growing towards the sun.
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I was so blind to the snake around your heart.
So child like in the morning light you lay.
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You are the mirror man, a hard cold reflection.
Inside glowing embers of the past, light up the empty tomb within.
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Pull back the quilt of the star filled morning, before the day is born,
Gaze into the eyes of the iridescent moon through the cloudy sky.
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The little Calvary Scout
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I stare up into the face of the lavender moon.
Searching for comfort on Indigo dunes.
Wondering, if the colorless distilled liquid warms the darkness in your soul?
Daughter your poison in a crystal bowl,
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I cry I am here, I am here!
Beneath our God's vast and eternal frontier.
Whispering good morning like I do.
Then I see you fly your course true.
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In my parent's house there was a wall of pain.
There we wrote all the dreams they took away from us,
You know how children play?
All the words we couldn't say
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While reading the pages of Newsweek I find you little one.
Dressed in pink with little feet, twisted and broken on blacken ground.
Thoughts collide and mini universes break without a sound
A colored photograph, my breaking heart on replay.
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Each morning now I look for you at the wire gate that goes to the green field.
As the sunrises in all its glory above the cool gray clouds, the swell reveled.
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In the quiet, as the evening star awoke to the west of Joe’s Valley.
The thunderheads came running through the canyons.
And, over the tops of the shadow covered, blue plateaus.
They were dark, with their bellies all a flame.
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Sunday Morning

Sunday morning I look out across dew covered fields.
Water wheels, sparkle and shimmer in the morning light.
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While Reading the pages of Newsweek I find you little one.
Dressed in pink with little feet, twisted and broken on blacken ground.
Thoughts collide and mini universes break without a sound, A colored photograph, my breaking heart on replay.
I place my hand over you as if to hold this ball of tattered flesh, I pray.
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