it tastes sweet at first, then sour
Grief clings like the remnant warmth of summer
its sky painted with clouds
a seamless circle over the earth:
inside, fibers of a curled up paper with
Emptiness scratched onto it
Maybe a message in a bottle
Found on the other side
Look for a man with a jar of water
Maybe a trail of droplets make puddles on the steps
Leading to the upper room
Broken and torn like the carpet of palm branches
Humble evidence of a divine authority
Hope that is seen is no hope at all
I took off my favorite sweater
It has should and ought to stitched to the sleeves
I never knew righteousness was underneath
I signed away my rights to approval and being understood
Long ago I exchanged my rules and records of wrongs
(In between life and grace
I forgot I did these things.)
Now what is left of who I thought I was?
Who hopes for what they already have?
Sometimes it’s hard to see what has always been there.