A Sunday Psalm

Take me to the river,

the currents that carry away.

Be the banks of faith

as my feet feel the passing by.

For now, the ocean isn’t needed

with waves that overwhelm.

No, it’s the redemption of here.

The forgiveness of now

channeled and contained,

yet flowing on and down.

The present and eternity

as indistinguishable as the I Am.

 

Take me to the river,

the conversations which float by.

Be the impeded stream

and sing a long ago song.

For now, a waterfall isn’t needed

with its deafening overtones.

No, it’s a smaller voice I lean into.

The whispers of hope

riding on the vein of a meadow.

The past and its echoes

fading into grace and mercy.

You Are.

 

Take me to the river,

the baptismal space.

Be the undercurrent where

the world is muffled.

For now, a heavy rain isn’t needed.

Should I scream or cry,

the undertones are received

and washed away.

The covering of love,

before, behind, above, beneath,

wrap You around me.

Take me to Your River.

Sunday Psalm

Sometimes music is the crowbar

which pries open my spirit.

Melodies warming the flowing

marrow in me.

 

Major and minor tones

plucking at tendons

under the surface

of leathered skin.

 

Each morning, creation

sings praise to all

the light by which I see.

There is joy in the squinting.

 

I feel the notes winged flight

on the scaled heights

of orchestrated air,

I knelt before The Musician.

 

“Will You play it again?

Tomorrow maybe?”

“My symphonies have no end,

you only need receive them.”

Sunday Psalm

Morning Dew

Unfold my arms,

Relax these tight shoulders.

 

Come, this wide-eyed morning

And lay these hesitancies on the dew.

 

Soak them mercifully, and grace

These fists in their clenched resistance.

 

Palms up, lifeline exposed

In vulnerable sweat.

 

Break upon my heart

Like the broken light,

 

Shards all around.