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Poem 3

o my God
i long to know, you
sweet marvel
mystery

o, my God
my heart, torn
like velcro
i am brewing coffee
with no grounds

o my God
tinted, only
with you, Lord

i drink thankfully
and hold the gap
holy
until morning comes

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Poem 4

though i stand chapped by the hot air of my lungs; though my heart stinks with the festering of open wounds; though the fount is caked in claret crust, from the sting of weeping cuts and viscous blood your name is a healing balm, your spirit is vitality you still the boiling waters; subdue the unsettled shores. when the choice of rebellion chafes creaking anxieties cleave and splinters break, you dependably pluck them up, a little litter; and burden the bugs no more.

Poem 9

washed up, my skin is the bristling foam and bright sand of the beach; a prolonged contact with the Holy lapping, lapping, lapping. washed up from tumult, the inner sea; the fight to keep it down, unsuccessful for too long i am ready to rise; to walk with my measly legs, i get up to turn around, and face the flooding surge of the storm with what balance and grace God gives. we will see what follows after, a baptism and a drowning.