And That is All

And That is All

(“Come, let us worship and bow down; let us kneel before the Lord our Maker.” Psalm 95:6)

My legs are weak from standing, my mind curled from
hashing out each argument to magnify my own codes of conduct.
I hand out glances at the first action that does not glitter in
angelic gold.

My arms of tired from directing the traffic from darkness to
manufactured tanning stations, pointing out the misdirection,
handing out the reserved exceptions to the better dressed who
avoided every beat of music with stains of mud the silent modifier.

My voice is harsh, is rough, is scraped like a knee on the pavement;
I would speak more kindly if the street corner had received my instructions
more readily. As it is, with all the shouting, I am certain I got through to all
who were doubting the sanity of the speaker.

My ears are plugged, are burst, are filled like garbage bags stuffed with
every castaway vegetable and cutaway insurance bill. Crammed,
the sound waves do not even stop to know, but turn away seeing the
door to my listen is far too full to allow another thought a place to
bunk upon the floor.

I have heard of knees stronger for the kneeling, voices sweeter for their song;
I have seen silence that repented scratch into melody. I have held a camping
mug hot with coffee, the fire off the beaten path, the brown liquid left steaming
from early evening and yet, sweeter than summer wine, it tasted of hand
to
hand

And commanded a second look at unhooking my agonizing attempts at
controlling the earth’s rotation. I look into the fire, back at the golden face
of my benefactor, and, life sometimes sends saints unobserved, unconsciously
we kneel, we bow,

And that is all.