when I can't
the holy spirit ties my shoes
double knot, just so, snug
and my hair loose, arms out wide
whispers catch the cat of nine
the trees slap at my knees;
turning aside the burning nib
that pens in hateful words
onto my parched and parchment soul -
muse and music, wine and time
for lying by Elijah dining
on the gifts of ravens,
where the world is an empty
deserted place without any water
I am lifted on the wings of eagles
sipping holy water and unraveling
the spiritual knots so I might
wander heaven's pastures, bare of foot
On difficult days, more than other days, the second string
steps up to play. I’m falling on useless legs like a world-cup stumbler,
praying for a foul, a little grace from a biased referee. And when my knees
break, shins crack, and I curl into a little helpless quaver on the thin green
grass, the stretchers come to carry me into the wings for a rest. There is
nothing wrong with the bench, nothing I couldn’t anticipate. Oh, and how those
who wait want to run. How could you not, sitting on heaven’s shores, waiting
for a little chance to soar?
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