Infirmary [a Time to Plant and a Time to Pluck Up What Is Planted]

You can build a firm foundation on everything you own, but those hands cannot
claim their craftsmanship without the builder of their bones.
Behind every builder is a builder built out of mortar and stone,
and that dust can construct a house that creaks and groans, but he cannot make
it a home.
Well I’ve been searching for a plot of land to put my hand to the plow.
I’ve got a lot of friends out there that say it’s all about the south.
Well, Georgia was gorgeous until I hit Oregon, so I don’t know about that now!
But I’ve been searching for answers to questions that have yet to be answered,
or maybe just yet to be found.
I’ve got a newfound friend in North Carolina.
I sat on her back porch for a week and a half, and smoked cigarettes with her
mom.
She stared down at that cancer stick in her mouth as she packed her next round,
said, «It helps me think better.»
Well ma’am, my problem is that I think too much, and all of this chain smoking
leads to chains of thought that I can’t turn off — now how can you help me with
that?"
But I’m finally getting to quitting smoking cigarettes, two years after the two
packs of 27s that I talked about two years ago in my poems, and yet there are
rolling hills just south of San Francisco where 580 intersects with the
aqueduct, and my last match could set a fire ablaze and leave the valley
looking like my lungs.
And I’d stand on the side of highway and watch it burn, watch it light up the
sky (burn), watch it burn like the fire that you said you saw in my eyes.
It burns for you!
I met a man who said he knew that passion, too, but he’s got coals in his eyes
where the light burned out: he scared that he’s the one who doused it,
it’s something he’s always thinking about!
You can see it in his countenance — you can see it in his doubt — you can see
it in his temper when he tries to let the pressure out.
He shouts: «When it comes time for you to settle down, make sure that she’s the one,
cause I’ve got a wife in a house my kids call their home, but they don’t know
what we’ve become.» And he smiles and it looks like sadness: says he still
loves the Lord, but he’s wondering where the time goes, and if the Lord loves
him anymore.
Just down the street from his apartment building is a house that weeps for him.
We, friends that called it a home and invited everybody in, singing, «Solace!
We are a broken family!» (Oh!
So at least we all know that we’re not alone!) AT LEAST WE CAN SING WITH
SINCERITY! «SOLACE!» We are a honest home!"
(Singing out of the dust we came, come: weathered temporary HOUSES THAT CREAK
AND GROAN!)
(She steps out the back door) Puts away her keys, makes her way past the
gargoyles guarding her porch from the street: she’s got her rain boots on!
She saves them for days like these, sings, «I hate this rainy weather!» She laughs and she thinks of me.
She’s got her rain boots on: polka-dotted pink against the leaves,
sets her thoughts to thoughts of God, friendships, and family.
Jesus!
I drove to Joplin, Missouri, with mourning in my bones and we all are
decomposing houses, but I think you make us a home.
I am an accumulation of sticks and stones and words, and as it were,
I’m prone to wander, Lord I know, I’m prone to wander off on my own!
Well I’ve been searching for a plot of land to plant my seed, and grow,
but Great Mystery, of all the places I’ve been, you’re the only peace I’ve
ever known.
So be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home, but home is not where the
heart is, my heart is a home, and where you go: I will follow.
WHERE YOU GO, I WILL FOLLOW!
So, Solace, we are a broken family. (Oh!
But at least we know that we’re not alone.) At least we can sing with sincerity.
Solace, we are an honest home. (Singing out of the dust we came, come:
weathered temporary houses that creak and groan.)
We are not afraid of the darkness!
There are cracks in every house, it’s not houses we’re worried about!" «We are not afraid of the darkness!
There are imperfections in our home, shadows in our souls!» (And still:) «We are not afraid of the dark!
There is no place for the lampshade that covered up my heart!» «We are not afraid of the dark!
Matchless flames we matches made out of one, single spark!»
WE ARE NOT AFRAID OF THE DARK