“Evening Scenes Performed inside the Ford”
He holds me, my Father, rocking me lazily,
Whispers find my ear, overflowing compassion,
Confidence flowing inside my crystallized veins
Delivering, lethargically, signs of slow smoke.
Down, through clouds, I fall. Divine eyes scanning His Earth
Lovingly fixed upon huddling, famished masses.
Penetrating fluff, breaking seams, dodging jet planes
He gently guides me, with safety, to His surface.
He spies on me weekly, sending cards on Christmas,
Assuring me of His presence every Easter,
Calling me on weekends with unwavering care.
His glory eternal, always necessary.
Up, in chains, I search. Judges gazing upon me.
Sun rays caress my scalp like fingers holding coal.
Crowds shout as I, with a son’s confidence, confess:
I shot the Devil. And the blade fell.