I wandered through the afternoon
sifting through debris
kicking at stones
into evening, when I sulked
and moped my way toward bedtime
and prayer, entering my mind
the idea, the thought
that I could talk to you Lord
that you would listen, and hear
faded all of that to barely a whisper
that I flicked aside
If I had enough hope to fit in a thimble
this mountain would move.
And if I could sing like an angel
maybe the angels themselves
would perch on my shoulder to listen.
Instead, my hope is merely a droplet
and my voice-the squeak of a screen door-
and I reach for the notes that will
reverberate into the heavens.
For what are we if we do not at least
attempt to touch the finger of God
and aspire to touch others with
a song bird’s song–
Who am I to think
that my plaintive cry would reach God’s ears
were it not for His promise?
And I am undone when it comes to You-
my hope drip-dripping into the thimble
with another new day beginning.
early hours of sweetness
dark mood of the night before
lifts like fog
and this voice, a
rumble of thunder
as the coffee drips
like every other day
and my soul, eyes
looking to the east
aches for you Jesus
oh come quickly