I relocate
hope
Take it back from
finite places and
finite people
where I imagined
it belonged
Wash off
the crud and
cynicism
it’s gathered
Place it in
that Holy Fire
where it can be
an incense
warming
and emanating
a sweet perfume
I unpack
faith
from the boxes
on the shelves
in the closets
where it has collected
dust
instead of growing
roots
Take it outside
to let sun and rain
alike fall on it
Nestle it deep within
that Ground of All Being
from which
comes life
to which
returns life
by which
all life sings
I excavate
trust
from my own heart
where it has grown
stiff and sore
(also stubborn
and vain)
Hold it in my hand
with compassion
at last for
its brokenness
Give it to
that Wise Storyteller
who might oh so impossibly
reimagine it
alongside such fairytales
as justice
and love
Wait and listen
for a new yarn
to be spun
Happy are those whose help
is in the LORD their God.
(Psalm 146:5)