Monthly Archives: November 2017

Least of These

I close my eyes
She appears again, in the haze
Of spent years and separate ways
And tears bent to earth.
Her moment torn open,
But she no longer remains
In the flowing wounds, the stains-
Her broken fragments of being.

I close my eyes,
And they’re ever kneeling
In like condition: healing,
A foreign concept- a mythical beast.
Love, a foreign language,
A muscle rarely-used,
A notion much-abused
And deeply mistrusted.

I close my eyes,
And open my heart in prayer.
You brought me here from there,
And I was too blind to remember the route,
But I remember You,
And the day I learned love was tangible,
Solid, substantial,
And I could receive it,

And I could give.

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Here and There

Surveying the broken bits
Of former glory
Remnants of Your story
Before, behind,
Sometimes we find
New roads to lay, new avenues to pave ahead
Your church,
But sometimes the work is to
Rebuild again
What once has been
The best we can do.

Building the walls,
Repairing the gate,
The mud and nail and wood and stone,
After life, while it’s late,
But maybe no one should build alone.

Yet the work spreads out in all directions,
And the workers are so few
Perhaps it’s harder to view
Broken down things
Than move on to what is new.