Spinning tales
I hadn’t a clue – so You
scattered a few about –
sandal prints under my
windows;
sacred threads snagged in
the hedgerow;
Your blood staining the
cross within my chest.
People wonder why I go on
about this!
It’s ancient history,
they say.
I’m like the angler whose
trophy fish is mounted
above the mantle –
I can’t stop spinning
tales about it!
Especially when Your wine
gets me drunk
and I feel again the excitement
of finding You
on the end of my line.
Gone forever -- the
despair of empty nets
pulled again and again
from the sea of illusion.
My nets are bursting now,
my vessel in danger of sinking
under the weight of Your
bounty.
Jesus must have smiled when
I turned down Your street –
He’d sent me that way
years ago looking for You.
O child of God, the
Avatar is the fisher of men.
It’s His hook causing
that pain in your chest.
(drawing by Rich Panico)
No comments:
Post a Comment