“Afternoon Worship”

Days like these where the sky can’t make up
Its mind, should it sprinkle or shower, blow a few
Clouds or open its gateways with gold are
Little quagmires for my thoughts…
Mud seems to be intoxicating to a child.
Simplicity is the encomiums of its living.
But the sky’s aluminum and changing lines
Beckons me to complexities that clot.

I tip and sip, pulling at webs and threads
Before my thinking eye, wondering if the fog
Will dissipate or thicken should I forego or
Continue in my search for Godliness.
Shocking silence after a battle can leave
Behind a mist of strange sounds we can almost
Trace with our soul and carefully feel with our ear
For its rare form of holy heaviness.

Worshipping at times can rifle me to grounds
I have never softened beneath my knee, it can
Eliminate, illuminate and chafe at the misdemeanors
Of my mortality with one remembrance.
This day of sorts granges me to no mile or
Border but to ride, to plow up my heart and
Let the winds clear the debris of anxiousness
While I lift up my eyes and summon from a distance.