Atlantic coast

the kind of campsite

where if you don’t hear the roar

of the trees the pines

you hear the surf night & day

the season was closing fast

everybody local had gone away

when I found him in the shadows

he told me he was travelling

with jesus

hoping to find his way

between here & Santiago

& those I asked are your plans?

more for fear for him

with winter closing in

as I noticed jesus had not provided shoes

a tent winter coat or map

& he sighed long & low

like this question was raised by everybody

by fools who did not know

the lord is here with us now

he said smiling again

who needs shoes on holy ground?

& all I could see were shadows

stones & sand

a scruffy dirty traveller

standing alone

questioning just who

was the mad one



That crisp april morning

sun rising

promising summer

but not here yet

as you walk out

feeling the gold

there on your cheek

& today you are warm

in your coat

not your coat

is warming you

the season has shifted

if not in the world

within you


that September morning

stepping out

expecting warmth

you find the sun has shifted

behind low cloud

& you did not

wear your coat today

but you will tomorrow



he calls by again


I can almost tell

by his knock on the door

wanting to borrow a little

until the weekend


& I’ve got nothing to lend

nothing changes there

& he says man

you are always going someplace

where you gotta go?

what I don’t tell him

I keep a coat just there

by the door

& when I see his outline

wide against the frosted glass

I pick it up

start to put it on

before I answer the door

oh, man, I was just off out

sorry can’t stop

mans got places to go

shit to do

& leave him gulping

thin air

as I stroll away

from all of this