Our guaranteed return

Our guaranteed return                                                                     
 
The world’s a nothingness and God’s a myth,
wrote the poet Francis.  You have shown me this.
 
You have shown me this . . .
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 (by his estimation) 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.