Oh, Holy One
I am sick with discontent
watering the weeds and picking the flowers
furrowing my brow in whittled anguish
wanting to nick my neck on your solemnity
I reach out,
because I know
you will be there. even if I have long left myself
I know the wood is burning
I know the tender sage will envelop my hogwash
I know your sandals
carry so much dust
that I am on solid ground
when I am with you
Your love has emptied me of every thought of leaving
all my curses become a common thread of self-doubt
and in your presence, that silver lining becomes a silver tongue
I bang the gong and arrange the halos
this work of tricking myself into finding and seeking you
when there you are
on the fridge, like a work of art
magnetic and exposed
your gum has sealed my kiln
and now I am only
polishing
the dew
I Love You
Your Beloved
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