To love them

To love them is

to live him, often

the only way

to love him. To love

them in their anger,

to love them in all

their ugliness and

meanness, to love them

in their brutality

and hatred is to love

him. No one, not even

one, knew that love,

and faith, were

opportunities

of the hands.

Photograph by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

At the midpoint of darkness

At the midpoint of darkness

he planted a light, small

to be sure but sufficient

to burn, a defiance

against the darkness

choking the life it smothered.

The darkness laughed

at the impunity, even as

the light began

to tear it apart.

Photograph by Marina Shemesh via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

A letter

He sent a letter, not

knowing if it would fall

into silence, not

be seen by closed eyes, not

be opened by fortified hearts.

He sent a letter, not

knowing if it would arrive, not

discerning if it would be opened, not

seeing if it would be heeded.

He sent a letter, knowing

there was purpose

in the sending.

Photograph by Randi Klugiewicz via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.