It’s like sewing the torn seam
of a treasured jacket –
needle pushed in, pulled out
to patch the rend that lets the chill in
and the warmth escape.
You might say
His name with each stroke if you’ve a mind to
and go through the day
with mercy in your throat;
like a swinging gate awhisper on well-oiled hinges –
you keeping a nearby watch
to chronicle the traffic, follow your thoughts
where you will and leave off where you must –
stand and observe the lone traveler
disappearing against the sky.
Wherever you end up, the gate will follow,
ready for you to take up your post again.
You won’t change much – just become
less and less, fewer chased-down desires,
less and less, fewer chased-down desires,
rash decisions, careless attachments.
O seamster, name-dropper, sentinel, spy!
holy, holy witness, knowing only the moment,
inside and out, and the primal joy of breath!
O child of God, will you ride
the ox or
chase forever behind its random wanderings?
No comments:
Post a Comment