you know how a modest one
will rock the boats
of a few natives
fishing along your coast
but an embrace
of unusual magnitude?
well in my village
they drop everything
and hustle to the beach
the first one there
yelling
Surf’s Up!
true lovers of God fully prostrate knees chest arms and face on grimy tile filthy carpet leaf litter even rough gravel to slather their affection onto Him with such feeling and practiced devotion t
your soul is like a horse that tires of the well-worn path to the trough the same dry oats and brittle straw the smell and gloom of a familiar stall the muscles of your chest pressing a little too har
pull and drip pull and drip pull and drip a golden smudge spreads across an arc of indigo sky the sun yellows the church tower chases candlelight back through windows and around the shadows of ruffled