The Beloved listens
as I dovetail words
into walls
and walk in winter landscapes.
None of the alien, snowbanked roads
lead home. Even as I speak,
the shadows shift
across the stones
I have tried
to mortar into place.
The beloved listens
and weaves willow silences
into my words.
The quietness of Love
builds me a better harbor
than words ever could,
a place from which to sail,
a place to remember
on the map I navigate by,
where the heart of the compass rose is home.
You, neighbor God, when I disturb with heavy raps your quiet during a lonely night, it is because I rarely hear You breathe, though know: You're in your room alone. And while in need, there's no one there to bring your groping hand a drink. But I am listening. Just give me a sign. I am close by.
Eternal spirit of Justice and Love,
At this time of thanksgiving we would be aware
of our dependence on the earth and
on the sustaining presence of other human beings.
both living and gone before us.
As we partake of bread and wine,
may we remember that there are many
for whom sufficient bread is a luxury, or
for whom wine, when attainable,
is only an escape.
Let our thanksgiving for Life's bounty
include a commitment to changing the world,
that those who are now hungry may be filled,
and those without hope may be given courage.
