by now you know
every safe rut contains
pot holes from hell and
crashing to the ground
is the surest way to
pound on God’s door
if you do have a slip and
make it through the night
I’ve heard He’ll come out
and make something hot
and sweet to go with
your morning coffee
a warm melting tenderness
soothing on bloody tongues
and while you’re enjoying that
He might hold your hand and ask
What are we going to do with you?
when it’s all over will I return to the stream from where I came not in fin or web-toed nor sharp clawed from above or below without flash shadow or even a ripple but simply flowing making my way ho
Maybe I’ve just been feeling the weather unable to escape the relentless searing sun but you brought me upright when your voice threw me the shade of a fat summer cloud I remember the wonderful troubl
if not to hydrate parched bodies or find a leak in the roofs of miserable souls then to pour and pour and pour over a crazy world slow the talk and traffic and hope a few hear the silence that drips