1 week ago
Thursday, January 5, 2012
We ride our bikes
around the circle in the cemetery,
I wave up to You on the Cross.
Am I to come upon You suddenly like this forever?
Happy, relieved that You are here
and I can see You, I can feel You?
You are like the ticket-half
I find inside the pocket of
my old leaf-raking coat.
There all the time, all the while,
I so often seem to leave You
and other islands.
And on my beads
where I can see You, I can feel You.
I take the ticket-half
and put it on the table, saying,
This is God
and He's here through my comings
and my goings.
But I walk past the ticket-half,
I walk past the ticket-half.
I walk past the ticket-half
just as I've walked past the Cross on our wall.
Our self-importance grows so dazzling we don't see
But Gentle Jesus, aren't You always,
aren't You every hour here?
- ► 2010 (10)