To think where darkest nights have taken this soul, and how thin the membrane between life and death, how loud the Accuser has screamed to pierce the membrane and throw me through;
yet here I stand, with no reason beside You and the sheer leap into faith that saved, the soft belly of love into which I fell;
so here I stand, with my eldest in my arms while he reaches the clothesline, spins like the chuckling Father who set this orbit to go, reaches and carries, and calls out Again!
So why not, when held in steadfast love; why not watch it spin again and shout the dead Accuser dumb.
Too simple.
The copers always say yes until the last
and the question’s sincerity must be matched with the moment,
the timing devised for the heart to respond:
no hallway exchanges, or coffee machine chit-chat.
Space is required – a safe place to land
when sand bags and bubbles collapse.
Too late to be asking when the home is not made,
when the body’s been drifting in the rye all this time.
Catch long before the question is asked;
catch long before the reply.
