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Thursday, May 16, 2019

Sons like trees / Psalm 144

Tonight the weighty sky drenched in plum hung, a radiant peach ros’e Drooping low, to tree tops Culminating above a mellow creame row resting in the skyline Like a layered cake, decadent 
Now in bed I revisit the memory of immensity Color fathoms extending The smell of blossoms; apples, cherries, the dusting of white, pink, and maroon petals swept by wind
Northbound Cretin, I thought of another time, While walking to the banquet on campus A five foot, white-haired nun in habit clasped my hand and leaned on me, from street, to elevator, to the hall, our small group making small talk of finding the room and the weather, and she never said a word but I felt The life of Jesus in her grip, the childlike trust, I felt wonder, joyful acceptance I felt I met someone who lived in the moment and was inhabiting a love That was breathing a prayer Even for me
Oh sister, Wherever you are, whoever’s hand you’re holding now, I remember you Incarnating love, a present of presence A joy spilling-over A hope for the unborn to yet praise him for the plum and peach ros’e and blossomed air and spring nights with windows down and hopes high laced with tears that maybe, maybe this will be the year