You say, Don’t try to understand Me.
Good advice, since You don’t seem
to quite make sense, that is to say,
nothing seems to fit ... and You,
of course, are everything
but, every so often You send me off
on an analytical jag, knowing
I’ll come back around because ...
my thoughts always lead me in circles.
It’s about time, this time;
inevitability and purpose, distance
and proximity and the ubiquitous
reality of non-significance ... while never leaving,
mind You, the confines of my thick skull,
never venturing near the love-strapped,
thin-skinned heart I bear inside ...
until I am, at last, back on Your stoop,
knocking on Your door ... and being let in
graciously, mercifully, as I fall in timeless,
eternal repetition, at the unfathomable,
beyond imagination and conception, illusion
of Your body and Your holy, human feet.
O child of God, one significant allurement of faith
is the lack of any coherent alternative.