It's been a while since I posted anything here. No shortage of things have happened. In place of those for now, I leave you a poem about obscurity. Once on a Wednesday, my friend Brady said 'remember last week when...' and I stopped him mid-story to remind both of us that the event happened just Monday. Time seems to open and collapse back in on itself to hold more, and more, and more, so that a majority of significant experiences I have had here will likely never be recounted. In a way, I am thankful for this, as I am thankful for my new life in Lebanon.  Please enjoy.


I cannot tell you what
obscurity and I do.

I cried about it yesterday.
There were child tears and
a little blood on my shirt.  
I planned a party to announce it.
Obscurity sat me in the corner when the guests arrived.
I raced home to call friends. Obscurity answered.
I drove to a parking lot to think and
obscurity looked at me from every other car.

I drew a circle around the thing and tried to explain
the inside by way of the outside and obscurity thought it too much.
A woman drew a circle around that circle
and asked me a question – have you been infected?
and the bump in the middle told her what to write.
I cannot say, really, except that I am.
I hit the steering wheel of my car frustrated at
the obscurity as my main passenger
but the steering wheel did not know what obscurity and I do
either, so we veered into a gas station.
The gas station attendant did not know what
I do but gave us fuel to get there.

Obscurity watches people change the world and never tells anyone.
I admire obscurity’s best friends but their lives scare me.
No one really wants to see what they do. Or know about it.
If what you don’t know can’t kill you, obscurity will keep you alive.

I really only want to know what I do, and
I don’t want to need to know what I do, but when I do, I fight with obscurity.
I want to wait to be asked, even if it never happens,
but in the wait, I fight with obscurity,

who practices presence,
and invites the poor for dinner.