Nor Bathed, Nor Washed

Nor Bathed, Nor Washed

(“This is the first and most important commandment.” Matthew 22:38)

Wetness never surrendered our sins, nor bathed, nor washed
them.
A chanted prayer or babbled tongue never broke the ceiling,
revealed the spoken faces or reassigned the thirsty graces
to the needy-not-us.
A whirling grandchild is not the Spirit’s toy,
divine words are not playthings to conjure a win
or a raise,
hide my sin or drop the haze upon my exposure.
The best for me and the slight for you,
the blessing upon my brow while it must be the cursed
who cannot pay the rent or
who have tsunamis sent to wake the dead. I love
my religion, my old songs, sawdust and drum kits
all within the hearing of the hungry who do not
know how to clean their houses or their children,
who swipe their paper-thin soles upon the newly-laid
carpet. (Will you sit here, closer to the door, and maybe
we won’t have to replace quite as much flooring.)

I’m the worst, I’ve just rehearsed my compassion.

Loving up and loving down, embracing light, enwrapping sound,
carousels of words, morsels of moments we hope will please
the deity we’ve become.

Oh holy and glory, all truth and only All who leaves
no space vacant in Your Fullness; who leaves no heart
empty in Your With-ness; let my witness be, my reality
the
elite thrones torn down and shattered, replaced
by
a simple and slightly tattered shirt from the back
of my closet
that I wear when I visit my
closest friends.