morning poem, January 16, 2017

.

In the far corner of the sanctuary I see him

Under light beaming through the stained glass

How long has it been?  Thirty years?

As boys we sat in these pews, week by week

And heard his father pray.  We saw it all

The mistakes everyone made

And never spoke of it.

He spots me in the crowd now

And nods hello and smiles

We know that we know

And that no one else in this sad parade

Even imagines

And yet the river we still wade

Is the true stream, regardless of our erring

Beneath us, God’s tectonic plates move slowly and truly

Do not be distracted by those

Who make their own noise.

.

copyright 2017

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