Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Spring Rain

Hazy gray, far away,
resolves into droplets
splatter-sputter down
not too cold, nor warm
but a springtime shower
chased across the canyons
by the sun, flitting through Phoenix,
and leaving us surprised,
sprinkled,
and not a little cooler
as evening falls
and the sun abandons his quarry.

Monday, March 10, 2014

And We Shall Be Changed

Threshold-welling water washes down
from Mount Zion, springing unfed but from the throne
yet welling ever brimful to a river
running deeper in its channel as it goes
and irrigating, giving life to trees
themselves so full of life even their leaves
make well at last - no fig-leaf garments here,
but glory,
Father-glory,
Son-glory,
Spirit-glory,
bathing bruised feet,
refreshing saint-souls wrenched and wracked,
and wiping every tear away.
There gathered, to the last, at last,
each and every-one named, claimed, redeemed,
assembled guests to dine and die no more,
the roar of many waters (harpists, singers, loosed at last)
Hallelujah!
For the Lord God Omnipotent Reigns!
All friends, all family, found and bound to Christ the elder brother,
all arrived at any hour,
from there and anywhere,
and all at once we shall be changed,
don glorious dinner-jacket,
and sup, dine, feast,
all hail the host, and toast
the bridegroom beautiful,
who sought, bought, and brought his bride
to his love-bannered banquet-table,
and we shall be his people
and God himself be with us as our God.

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Dawn

It is joy to be alive
between the night and day
and to watch the
slow inevitability of light
seep into a gray sky and wash it with
the colors of Arizona poppies.

Monday, March 3, 2014

The Cool of the Evening

Have you stepped out
into the wet air
after rain
after sun
before dark
and been hit
hard
in the chest and nostrils
by the freshness
and the life?
(You can almost hear it humming
deep down inside the grass
each blade sings to its Maker:

Thanks be to God for
damp day and dew-dappled dusk,
for fragrant flowers refreshed by
sweet shafts sun shot between
clouds gray and heavy, pregnant with life and rain,
dripped down to brown and thankful dust
from which we rise, and
to which we return.
O Lord, how shall we lift our evening praise,
we thousand-million voiceless growing things?)



And so they cloud the air
thick with purest incense invisible
as the day breathes a goodnight
and the Lord trims the lamp and tucks us into bed.