These are the Things that are Measured

I am terrified that I will not measure up.
That my best will not be best enough,
Or even close at all.
I am terrified that I will fail
Life. Or my son.
I mean, its one thing to fail me.
I've had a lot of practice at that.
I think of all the almosts,
all the near misses,
All from the comfort
of such distance,
Measured in time
and passing moments.
Or maybe seen thru
several layers of gauze,
so that the edges blur,
and the pain of all that
misplaced potential
softens, so that it is
At last,
At best,
Bearable.
But only from a distance

Still.

Still, I am terrified
that the scales that
rise and fall in a graceful arc,
a pendulum sweep of
Enough to Not
will find me wanting.
Though the real secret,
Of all the hidden secrets,
Swaddled so carefully
by the gauzy batting
Of time and passing moments,
the real secret is
   I do not fear at all.

I know.

There is an infinite and
Measureless chasm
Of measuring up.

The Stuff of Stars and Rain

Based on Psalms 104:24:
מָה-רַבּוּ מַעֲשֶׂיךָ, יְהוָה
Mah rabu ma'asecha yah: How manifold are your works, God...
and found, among other places, in the morning liturgy  

It is all breath -
Outward,
In gathering,
Almost unheard,
And yet
It is the only sound
The only one
That matters,
That slips out
And is gathered
In greatness,
Created from
The stuff
Of stars and rain
And dust,
And mingles
In invisible wonder
With the stuff of stars
And rain and dust
That gathered in
And slipped out
So quietly,
Almost unheard,
Almost unsaid.
And the sound of that
Almost whispered
Barely there sound
Was a note of
Sweet grace
that gathered in
The stuff of matter
And stars
And light
And the name of God


For Shira, who opened the door