Quiet me, LORD.
Your love transcends
my dialect of anxious fears,
soothes my flesh
with tender words
that still my trembling,
quiets my questioning lips,
stammering, and striving,
reveals your truth is
there, there, and here.
You teach me to practice
a foreign tongue
of sighs and weeping,
of broken bodies
and body water
turned to holy wine.
in bare footed remembrance,
my shoes removed from road weary feet.
consume me within your radiant presence,
my spirit burns in silence.
It’s almost deafening and definitely distracting, the
flock of sparrows munching with enthusiasm
on a large weed in the last wild corner of the garden.
I sit on the porch with my journal and coffee, listening.
Graeme’s feeders are full
but the sparrows find the weeds more to their taste,
darting into the cedar hedge at any perceived danger,
then back to gorge themselves at their breakfast buffet.
Beside me, bumble bees gather orange dust with a low drone
A sudden movement along the fence top
and the dog leaps up to dash after a squirrel
who is gone in a flash, leaving the dog panting after it’s scent.
A Flicker surveys all from the top of the Oak tree as
the sparrows scatter in disgust. And I wonder,
how could I have presumed that this abundant kingdom
would ever offer me solitude