Picnics Remade

Picnics Remade

(” The voice came a second time: If God says it’s ok, it’s okay.’” Acts 10:15 [The Message])

Lowered lovesick on the roof of a patron’s lodging,
fullpress prayer was all that was left of the noon devotion;
the only motion, rocking on the knees nearly calloused from
kneeling longterm, late term, before the object of love.

The skies are not enough to contain the passion flowing
from this tiny heart beating fresh, creating new love with
each pulse. The rooftop is not strong enough to
hold the weight of atomic moments where mass is greater
than the volume of words that poetry forms and
soily love envisions far beyond fascination to
strict affection. The code is obeyed for the
CodeWriter’s sake.

Fasting; for love nourishes the empty,
praying; for Divine enables the question,
seeking; for today replays the answer,
hearing; for spoken rehearses the remedy.

And seeing the answer, hearing the banquet
that lets us walk on the grass again, pet the animals in
the zoo,
cross the borders to love our enemies,
rsvp to recipes we had shunned so strictly,

Loving now cheery, the meals we take
are feasts remade into picnics for
cast-offs and relics, non-sequesters
and investors who are allowed now to
bet it all on walks where we once had
to wash our feet days before we began.