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Poetry

Where the Lord lives in heaven, is he lonely?
Does our Father walk his marble floors without
the company of anyone righteous? Who alone
is venerable enough to keep the Lord company?

My voice is small, yet I call to your house, Lord.
Does the wind enter your chambers and rooms,
cold and empty? Where are the souls of the righteous,
and how may they warm you? I call to your house,

Lord. I look for you in every neighborhood.
I knock on the doors of your churches and splinter
my knuckles to find my home in you. Who alone
is venerable enough to keep the Lord company?

The breezes of seraphic wings call for speech.
The chorus of saints harmonizes in hazed light.
The harrowed, holy families lay their repentance
before the thrones of Christ and the twelve apostles.

May they live well and reach down to us living
who are sublet and mortgaged, deeded and indebted.
Lord, I also bring repentance to offer for earnest money.
Even in this life, I ask to sit in your drafty parish home.

I’d be satisfied to live in a shack on the back roads
of heaven, just to live closer to you and visit, sometimes.
What I learned in the exotic air and streets of Jerusalem
is that, without company, even paradise is lonely.


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