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,
singing 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.
A billion years 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 spangled bell jar dome, singing,
singing and 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.