I’ve been out running this morning. I’ve been out swimming with the crabs and the gulls. I’ve been hoping and dreaming on a weekend under the disapproving eyes of my ancestors. Slow trains moving, creaking masses in a line. Do you remember me? I am your idol, your soldier and gardener, I am your image, but my name is not among them. Can you remember?
What do you know of the future, when the past is expunged as it’s written? Among the phantoms of our histories lie both angels and demons; how is it you cannot distinguish which one I am? Our manuscripts lie moldering in our chests and as I draw my own from the house of my bones I will ask for translation.
Do you see beyond the city walls? Are your armies there at the gate? The fields are empty. Your enemies sleep in your bed, not your vineyard. You wake up to them beneath your eyelids and under your skin; your fear fouls the air. Don’t you see them by your side in the sunshine, their shadow falling out beneath you? Do you hear their footsteps as they follow me when we speak? I’m not their friend, but once introduced, what am I supposed to do. I speak them and they run from themselves. But when I speak them to you, you run from them. Speak them with me and let’s leave these cells and holes, let’s leave this underground for the worms! Don’t you miss the sky?
You can keep your four-walled loves, seven rooms, two and a half baths… give me the mountains and the sea. Come with me out of your buttresses and turret worries, the moats of your escape. Attend to the lights of the North. Speak and be brave in the hope of redemption. Wonder at grace in the hold of your soul, the foundering, harbor-less vessel. I will be waiting for you on the shores of the sea.

isaiah 25: 4-8

You have been a refuge for the poor,
a refuge for the needy in his distress,
a shelter from the storm
and a shade from the heat.
For the breath of the ruthless
is like a storm driving against a wall
and like the heat of the desert.
You silence the uproar of foreigners;
as heat is reduced by the shadow of a cloud,
so the song of the ruthless is stilled.
On this mountain the LORD Almighty will prepare
a feast of rich food for all peoples,
a banquet of aged wine—
the best of meats and the finest of wines.
On this mountain he will destroy
the shroud that enfolds all peoples,
the sheet that covers all nations;
he will swallow up death forever.
The Sovereign LORD will wipe away the tears
from all faces;
he will remove the disgrace of his people
from all the earth.
The LORD has spoken.

have you seen where
the keys of our worship
are kept? do you wander
impassable bridges at night?
Grace calls me by name
and i reply with silence,
bare and unfolded, three
hundred wisdoms and One
who binds them
with patience and craft
and words of His choosing.