Our guaranteed return
The world’s a nothingness and God’s a myth,
Francis said. You have shown me this.
You have shown me . . .
setting Francis to roam
the nothingness, singing
‘neath that boundless starry dome,
down the ages, echoing words
awaiting, awaiting the flood
of the Word of words; Francis lost,
a mote in a dust whorl, left behind
by the Reality to Which the myth alludes
and his sentence clearly viewed,
stretching out a billion years
(he estimates) to get his heart in tune,
ready to sing the Real song.
O Francis, I am with you. I am with you
on the dusty plain, ‘neath the bell jar dome,
waiting for the Lord to take us home.
O child of God, let the longing pierce your songs
with the sweetness of our guaranteed return.