Friday Psalm

Length of days.

Stretched desire

thin. A thin slice

of passion for the

lost connection

with You.

 

Hurried, distracted,

brink of brick on brick

and the mortar between.

Where are You?

Do You see us?

Do you see me

 

behind this wall

of mine?

This thick skinned

membrane, memory

brained elocution

where words fence

 

me in, and attempt

to keep distance

from Your editing.

Come, check my

cobbled diction.

Free this sentence,

 

this self-relying status

of trying to figure

things out.

Help me to humbly

figure You,

To read You word for word.

 

Spoken Light. The Sound of Vision.

Photo by Roberto Gonzalez
Khor Virap Church, Arashat, Armenia

 

From whence came this beam of light?

Did the particles roll off the Tongue?

Can sound give birth to brilliance?

 

Genesis 1:3

John 8:12

John 1:1

 

Once and Again. Boundless.

 

One more book,

one more song,

one more walk

in the spirit to see

One who swallows me.

 

The search continues for

Someone I have already found.

This quest of authenticity

resurrects dead poets,

theologians, and sages.

 

“The heavens’ embroidered cloths”

lie as dreams under Your feet.

I will tread softly on Your dreams.

 

You said it was all straw

yet I will gather the stalks

you left lie.

 

I will see the invisible fecundity

in the visible things

set in the dimmed light.

 

I shadow

contemporary

searchers of light.

 

Neil Diamond was lost

between two shores

to find out who he was.

 

Bruce Cockburn’s dance

with the everywhere truth

and the grace to lay it bare.

 

Michael W. Smith points to

the flesh and blood

of the I Am Love.

 

Then the great Author

names the lead

the Word.

 

A book,

a song,

a walk

in the cool of the day

and You show up.