Why do we doubt Your focal power?
Envy’s knives split our eyes.
I bleed anger at those who never
agonize, who gladly take advantage:
they; they; they; they antagonize.
Where does Your silent Joy pervade?
She can’t breathe: fumes choke her nostrils;
machine din ruins his eardrums.
Yet today in adjacent prison cells,
on flotsam strewn beaches,
at writing conferences,
whenever, wherever You seize
two or more of us with Holy Creeps,
taking us to Your triune vantage point,
conversations start, communion happens.
There is no more “they”. Insight heals hindsight
in Your self-cleaning foresight Love.
We bloom, quiet, content, beaming Your Peace.