There is zero evidence of God,
dissected all that’s been disseminated, no evidence, so he has no basis,
to have faith.
that meant nothing
to his heart was mutated into love.
I'll be with you,
he softly spoke,
for a religion that means everything to you, now, means everything to me.
Though, if you could prove to me that there's a God, any
shred of evidence,
would open up
my soul’s wings to Him.
Approaching death, we're both hoping for a last chance miracle.
Death makes believers of us all.
A whitewashed room
with only a plant in a rippled, blue vase
to remind us that there is life
outside this place.
A room full of pills, tubes, and machines we try to ignore,
nurses forever at the door.
He whispers he wants to be enveloped by my loving presence.
I lock the heavy latch,
not that it was so weighty, so large, everything's
a colossal hill needing to be scaled.
I wait with you,
only the faint tapping of high heeled shoes,
down hallways where
we heard the doctor's news.
Snatches of voices from distant rooms disturbs the silence of our roles.
‘Til we both knew
there wasn't time
for future plans,
to softly reminisce, nothing to say
to all of this.
I encompassed you,
you whispered soft,
This could be God! This could be God!
And you were gone.
You still fill my atmosphere with
dreams and passages,
only we who shared.
And I wonder what he meant? Did he find God in death, or God in love?
The cohort will spend five days in May at Chautauqua in Boulder and will present the results of their residency at the Canyon Theater, Boulder Public Library.
Launching the SCJS conference Sunday night, June 30, attendees will be moved by “Conviction,” a play in one act, adapted from a true story, starring one of Colorado’s most celebrated actors, Ami Dayan.