The Body

There’s no grand entrance
or entourage; we come as we
are not. It’s not like we haven’t
explored other options–we
tried closing our eyes.
But to open instead and gaze upon
knowing smirks on wrinkled complexions
and others’ view interrupted by
the insistence of a child,
five ethereal fingers still swinging one lone palm branch,
like wind chimes on a summertime porch,
long after the adults choose to stop.
This is prayer, I think.

“For the Lord our God,
He is strong to save,”
quotes the singer, three small tears
disguised and suspended between
wire-rimmed glasses and a face
that has seen too much.

There’s no grand entrance
and we can’t afford a saddle,
but you can sit on our coats;
always looking for an ending
when there simply isn’t one.


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