Proposing to God

Fully alive was never enough.

Understand that I have a very, very lonely place--
and the doorstep, this space within me,
a domain of sickness--
pulled apart, leaving, leaved.
The eyes of moderates were on me-- growling
I praised, I talked about dark thoughts--
I made them blush numerous, a sigh.
That apple tree, my curiosity for a silver bowl or
a roof bathing betrothed, brought a long, empty house.

I have mentioned growling,
but it grew of cares that I needed.
I made orphans and widows, through no fault of their own,
kiss my sandal, the unrighteous neck of my exploitation.
Like a hungry dog ashamed of dying,
I looked back from a shame, a body, a head I didn't know.

Despite myself, a Rock undid my hair and laid it
in the lap of The Pursuit. At once I noticed
my inhabited solitude-- as a party, resulting
in the clear and unequivocal.
Concerning the Holy Spirit, I was ingesting wind
and felt a child at this time.

How do I explain this abstraction? The problem
with such great salvation words like redemption
or rebirth is dimension.
(I can't see the furniture in the house of God.)

You waited, without rehearsal, as the Father,
while a large milestone broke free from
my other places. This was an eternal and internal act.
At the cost of losses, to this thunderous calling I replied.
Without confusion is not always easy, therefore I drove
forward into the mouth opened to me.
I never saw a man let the sin of my fallow ground
churn beneath his nails-- so much difference just dropped
everything.

Meek God, I am not over remoteness, wandering,
sleepiness-- and if only one Wednesday could be retracted.
The conversation on Tuesday of Holy Week did not
steal the sin of my compulsion. In fits of fear,
"But Lord, what will take its place?"
The first step is to let go-- and I resisted a little yesterday,
with both hands.

Others ask, "Aren't you afraid of Him?"
I tell how You can't let things smash,
and what I think You will do is different and
to support me You underwrite my support.
"You seem whipped", they reply.

I'm prepared for meals together,
to sit and tell You everything, my Husband.
How good You're waiting at our table.
I refuse to keep, the strand of hair, past diseases.
I swear to refrain from the highway, sins visiting hours,
demons hidden in my body.

You, my Mount of Olives,
kiss my moon skin,
like flashlight faces we burn.
People will say of us,
"They were close friends".