23 September 2006

1. When the rain runs down my face
(washing off: the day I have put on
and the day that was put on me),
I remember the day your Touch came,
(un)gluing me from the inside.

2. When I walk on water
(in the twilight–my own witching hour)
I wonder who taught the trees
the wisdoms they whisper to themselves.

3. The ox-man’s strength is not in his arms,
nor in the way he moves on the ground;
It is in his eyes,
in the way he looks through his enemy’s heart.

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23 September 2006

1. When the rain runs down my face
(washing off: the day I have put on
and the day that was put on me),
I remember the day your Touch came,
(un)gluing me from the inside.

2. When I walk on water
(in the twilight–my own witching hour)
I wonder who taught the trees
the wisdoms they whisper to themselves.

3. The ox-man’s strength is not in his arms,
nor in the way he moves on the ground;
It is in his eyes,
in the way he looks through his enemy’s heart.

Rough, Hearty Words

15 August 2006

I am Sarah,
a child, by grace, of the king.
His invited one.

He gives me jewels.
They fill my hands and fall to the ground;
I cannot hold them all.

I drop the jewels
and stretch my hands to him–
A child, reaching for her father–
On this glorious, springing, shining-sun day.

His beauty touches me,
searing, sealing,
fleeting yet more than I can stand.
I revel, and wither, in its light.
Fed, full, parched.
Longing, yearning, satiated.
My hands fall; I cannot touch this light.

It falls like rain.
My upturned face its grass.
Drops of light like food in my mouth;
food I can bear.
Warming the very middle of me
Taunting, teasing me from despair.

These drops of honey-light are my portion,
My part of the Body and Blood.
Not enough.
Beyond my imagination.
I take and eat.