Archive 05/08/11 - (1)

 

   

One Sunday

                                                                  

 

All our weeks seem to be a collective weekend,

An endlessness of weekends

Distilled into this one Sunday,

This one glorious Lord's morning

Scurried with squirrels, high in the oak tree,

Loading the diaphanous sun shafts,

With their nutty dust-motes,

This one Sunday entwined with honeysuckle vines

Weighted by flowers dripping sticky sunshine —

Godly, glistening, golden goblets

Sipped by hundreds of hovering hummingbirds...

Love's perpetual day of rest,

Its blessed embrace of our were, am, and will be,

Time itself begging us for our immortality.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

05/08/11 - (1)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 

 
   
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