It seemed like a fine plan,
writing Himself into His own work,
to taste and be tasted –
descending in scarlet,
sinking to flesh –
but who knew the life of man
was a brutal current turning,
slow and wide
then swifter and deeper
till the sky
became
a little white circle climbing
How wonderfully wearies the Lord
the ego, filing countersuit
after countersuit
against our vanity, depleting
with blemishes and disappointment
our reserve of can-do and
will-do – Oh I’ll get this
and I’ll get her, I will and
I will – taking His time
(He’s got all the time in the world)
while we chase our crooked schemes
of self-help and maintenance.
He reminds us we’ve better things to do,
but we don’t hear because our eyes
are fixed on our face
going up in wrinkles.
Your light is flooding this tract.
It has soaked the grass
and risen up through the brush
to fill the trees.
And so we must flee.
We climb the trees to await
boats of darkness
that will take us to caverns
cool and
covered with moss.
Where we’ll wait, to see what You do.
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.”
And tip my bushel
basket again
Like Satan in Job in need of a job,
testing the rest (at God’s request?),
every last link to see what gives
I’ll kiss the ash from your lips
I’ll turn your soil gone to weed
I’ll rake the sky for light sufficient
I’ll raise you up from bitter need
Draw me a bath, please, a hot bath
Go what’s gone.
In me the dead
will seed the dawn.
The flower of
this earthly wire
will climb to God
and then expire.
Utrecht Journal 