Is it always speaking?
Am I so forgetful?
small & finite?
Is it new?
Am I new and so
I hear it different?
Does his tone change upon my next opening?
Did he grow the words while I slept?
This book, this book
Christ, the word
God with us, word with us,
among us, piercing us, dividing us,
healing us, washing us.
O, sword, Spirit's sword,
Now I sit, I stop, I open, I pray, I train my eyes and ears to run back and forth across these thin & stoic pages. I force myself to sit & wait. For anything?
Sit & wait impatient, unbelieving (but I've seen it before)
Drop the seed & cover with dirt:
And miracle of miracles, by the time I'm mad
just as I've forgotten & called them dead
a leaf unbends itself,
pushing up the dirt.
O seed of life.
Seed of Christ
in my tilled up heart
I wait on you.
From shriveled marching letters
in worn and distant heart
Life springs new
New and new
How is it that it's always new?