These bizarre days crawl
Like a fat mosquito
Stalled between the humidity
And his next meal
While I slap at the place
He used to drink.

Sweat beads and races
Like a townhall turned
Into an angry mob
Running with no sense
But urgency
And I scratch the itch.

The sun sets.
Wind gusts around me
From the broad face of the sea,
It’s a cool comfort
To be still,
And to borrow the motion

Of a thousand year-old wind.

I want to sing a new song
As this moment demands-
As a family, the Church,
A citizen in this foreign land
I want to stand for
All that’s good and true.
Seeing these strands unravel,
The former days now through,
Leaves much to be woven
Into the fabric of our age
No commonalities in our common ground
Soft answers shall sing through the rage
A brand new song.

Our God is good and true.
He establishes and directs our steps.
Forced to choose, we renounce
The dalliances which crept
Into our work, our worship,
Our endless days at play
His patience built skills into us
Preparing us for this day.
He will lead us to stand, to march, to sing
Through and against the railing night
Perfecting, confirming, strengthening, establishing,
He will set our course aright
The Almighty God of Truth.

Our first fetal cry
Is not for understanding,
Nor accomplishment
In desperate strains demanding
Comfort, security, nourishment,
Until we may stand on solid feet
Shoulders to heaven
Walking the paved street
Of history in steady gait,
Taming the wild fields
Of the unknown future
Our fetal wails must yield
To the corridor of humanity
Briefly in scream, or song,
Or shout, or silence,
In cold isolation or dense throng-
We insist we must be heard
In this, our briefest eruption of time
Our pulse as our metronome
Wonderment in immense design
First steps beyond the bassinet
Our voices harmonize
With all the souls engaged before
In this momentous enterprise
Striving with all to mitigate
Our autonomy and our vassalage
The struggle, the sorrow, the song:
Our greatest irony and privilege

The complexity of our passage;
The simplicity of our cries.

Darling little songbird
Caught in the endless roar
Of man grinding his machines,
Progress and riot and war-
Such a pure melody,
Can it matter from whence you sing?
The dawn of life
Cradled hollow bones on wing
Winds of change, blindly persistent
Lifting you ever higher
Frail lungs expelling praise
Beauty born of fragility to inspire
Love in kind, like from like-
Whether caged or free
Beloved little bird
When God formed me
Did He think of you?
One moment, we both in flight
Turn to the sun,
The warmth of light
Carries us both home
Past the cruel usurpations
Of sandcastles and capture the flag
Slavery by innovation
Simplicity builds our home
Nesting in the songs that precede us
And in our timeline rooted
No din may impede us.
The sun will rise golden and sure.
Kingdoms will rise and crumble
Names will be heralded, feared, forgotten.
The mighty will run, and stumble,
And fall to gray, and spots, and death.
Yet you will sing
Your faithful opus raising
An anthem to our Creator King

Who was, and is, and is to come.