Saturday, September 13, 2008

Nearly Home

When I can’t patch my breath from the hurt-felt piercings of longing on my lungs ...

When I can’t comprehend a humanity that’s so inhumane ...

When I’m aware that my arms ache from bucketing the ocean to an arid earth ...

When my lips crack from their flap and the drought of my tongue refuses to salve the cleaves ...

When I grasp that no matter how thick the sole of the shoe, the soul walks barefooted on a pebbled problematic path ...

When I remember that faith takes a hell of a lot of hope ...

I recall the happiness in the holy.

I walk in a church.
I dip my fingers in the font.
I make the sign of The Faith.
I bend my knee on the kneeler.
And I bow my head before my God.

I am wholly in the presence of the Holy.
And I know that I’m home.