Christ is bold growing
amber corn glowing,
fields of silk, knowing
that crushed sugar sun
will keep us at last
Christ is bold growing
amber corn glowing,
fields of silk, knowing
that crushed sugar sun
will keep us at last
The Lord said to my Lord,
“Sit at my right hand and I’ll make your enemies your footstool.”
They shook hands and then He turned to me.
“Glad you could make it. We need to talk.”
Whoo boy, here we go.
He came around and sat on the edge of the desk.
“How are things going?”
Great. Fine, yeah good, no real good.
“The wife?”
Super, yeah. You know, tough as nails!
“The kids?”
Oh sure, ditto. Chuggin’ along. Thanks for asking.
“You got me a little worried.”
Me? Ah Boss, don’t put Yourself out. You know me,
I’m a little slow, but I bring it around.
“I guess.”
Hey, who’re we talkin’ to here? I’m Your guy!
“Yeah, I know, I know. But still.
You got me worried.”
Lace our window
and grace our yard
Here and gone and back again
reminders red
but gone again
You can’t get around them.
They wheel their kids with a parent’s eyes,
the road and road forever.
We need no camera obscura
to put us
proportionate on the line.
We’re changing shapes whatever we do.
We body out the ghost till we’re sucked on through.