Procreation is the apex of maturation;
The pinnacle wherein the thing being made
Becomes the maker- prototype to replicator.
The thing grown into itself is staid
And able in turn to produce
In identical form and shade.

How much so for those of the faith?
Reproducing in like form
The substance of things hoped for.

Time is the food
Feeding the activity of conversion,
The exact amount of fuel
To power the engine
For the exact amount of miles,
Minus a few.
The author who constructed it
Did so with ALL in view.
As it disperses, it releases
The sustenance of our motion
And transformation
Our propulsion
The blood feeding
The running leg,
The flesh in the seed,
The oxygen in the egg,

A powered field of momentum and vacuum.

The foreseen necessity:
The exact requirement of energy
To gestate and develop a bride.

Climbing a mountain
With lame feet
Means being left behind,
Stumbling, tumbling in defeat
Down the plane, over stones,
Beginning again incomplete
Alone and bruised.

Reaching for heaven
Lifts the aim of my pursuit
Above the jagged obstacles,
Hazards inflicting jabs acute,
But no jab compares to Your nails:
Bleeding to commute
The sentence of Your enemies.

You had to keep moving.
Your enemies right behind with
Different faces in different places,
In deceit, in false kindness,
And both friends and enemies
Walking in total blindness
To the reality around them.

I am blind, Father,
Touch my eyes, make me see,
The structure of Your design
The power of speaking into eternity
As Your Spirit indwells
Time reducing infinitesimally:
Colliding, dispersing, converting

The golden thread I saw
A quantum entanglement of soul
Sharing properties, transforming,
Fusing with lesser nodes
Rescue, redemption, regeneration
Damaged strains to integrated whole

A great organic debridement
Of Your forever, woven bride,
Burning off what’s disentangled;
You never intended to hide
The complete, amniotic poem of creation
But in our pride
We think in crayon sketches.

Repair my love.

Grow new limbs here:
My faith. My hope. My love.

Let Your desire for me
Be my only sway
The only guiding gravity
Molding my byway:
Remake my ability to move and
Repair my ability to stay.

Where You go, I go.
Where You stay, I stay.

Thank You for the beauty
Of Missouri: the river, the fields,
And all the wonder of them
I’ve been able to steal.

But the people here that You rightly love
Have been brutal to me
All empty words and numb hearts-
An ice gauntlet: a frigid battery.

And I know You,
How You must grieve
For all of Your prodigals
But I want to leave.

I can’t wait to forget this place.

In a raw season
I let them in.
I bitterly regret it,
But I can’t get them out again.

Their appraisal of me
Will be the one that carries me
For the rest of my life:
The one that buries me.

Is there a corner on this earth
I can curl up under for comfort?

Is there any safe place for me
To rest in peace?

I hate it here.