Each step a word
Each toe a pupil
Each pilgrim a sapling
Big toes flex, then probe, and grab
Groping over earthflesh.
Callouses reach blindly for a vista of mountains.
The arch tenderly curves around a root
Prayer is never stagnant
Grace wraps between skin and grist
After decades of walking
The heel grinds a stone
The rough edges carve out decay
Pebbles grown round with sinew and service
Arms ventilate the stuffed cage,.
Moving hands release a closed heart
Arms swing slow beside tree branches
The narrow voice box floats a bit higher.
Worship whispers in your gait.
Each step an answer
Each answer a gift
Each gift a nod
Receiving God. March 2013
The mold is creeping. Here we do not hide the truth.
The portrait of John Woolman can’t disguise the black spoors.
A coffee cup is picked up delicately by an arthritic hand.
Watch the coffee gyrate when she takes a tentative step.
Lentil soup steams as Tom’s ladle salutes a hungry stranger.
A toddler forgets her Spiderman beside the compost bin.
Pink worms ooze inside the black belching box.
Do not expect to see the infinite love of God tumbling from the high hills.
After the prayer undresses you, pick up the shovel and join the worms.
Outside a sparrow sings amidst the greying sun all of the divine’s mysteries.
Seek justice between bites of stew.
Chew up hate; tweet cheerfulness; climb the ladder slowly.
Even Lucretia Mott had manacles muffling her clarion words.
What is home? Where can I find love?
Somewhere between the mold and the Bible. 4/15/13