A footprint in the mud
Overflowing with water
A monotone grey sky
Pours a calm steady rain
Small eyes glitter
In the hollows of a tree
The air is cool
But does not bite
I lose myself
As I wander the woods
A path less trodden
But not by much
I examine my thoughts
But find nothing of note
So I leave my head be
To kick at the puddles
In one such I find
A small twig of pine
And roll it back and forth  
Feeling the sap coat my fingers
As I continued to walk
And play with the twig
Something profound
Washed over me as the rain
A feeling, a sense
Perhaps even a smell
But there was no thought
No philosophy, no revelation
Just a fullness that came
With simply being
In and of itself

I watch them fly
With grace, so free.
Unburdened by
Prosperity.

No time for entertainment.
Hearts not weighed and balanced against gold bars.
No defendants, and no claimants.
Living in each moment only where they are.

Light enough to lift off.
Strong enough to stand.
Each day is faced,
With strength and grace.
No expectation. Nothing planned.

I watch them perch
With purpose, unknown.
Each one a force
Itself, alone.

No need for supervision.
Making no objects, hoarding no wealth.
Living off of flight and vision.
Living for the flock, and for the self.

Only motivation, sunrise.
Only purpose is to live.
Perhaps thoughtless,
Perhaps unknowing,
Still, it’s wisdom that they give.

you light a match
the flame forgets
I close my eyes
echoes pass through us
I can't tell, is it
a mirror or a door
we are suspended in shapes
that keep on crying

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                          Hallowed be Thy App

               “…that unmistakable English church-going pace…
               holding, bound in black lamb-skin and white celluloid,
               the liturgies of a half dozen conflicting sects…”

                                -Waugh, Brideshead Revisited

One sees a Bible only occasionally
Even more rarely a Sunday missal
Which, with coat and tie and the mantilla
Are relics of a courtlier, more dignified time

The faithful now carry the scriptures as apps
The rosary the same (maybe next to Candy Crush)
An electronic conscience funded by an investment firm
And available at a low introductory price

A talking box - it must be Godly and true
And just as eternal as the Apple II

In place of shadows
sunspots and creases
an embankment the gray of day seizes
      nailed to peril as a savior
      pushes out all traces in its labor

Dust and smoke
--the heartless void
above the faded ring of hope
      say a sated prayer
      for your fellow wayfarer

I'll shield your body between
the rays and surface
I'll be your dark clouded step
     when your own feet fail to purchase
     into the ground they sink