I think I think of Thee
as I traverse mortality.
I pray in the cracks and crevices
of Have. Do. Be.
I catch a glimpse or two of light
in my frenzied overscheduled flight
if all the starts align just right
and I hold my spiritual antennae
at the precise and perfect height.
I think I hear Thee speak
between the cackling chaos of my overburdened week
above the toll and bang and squeak
beside the faucet’s steady leak
behind the random ramblings of this
I sing I serve
I teach I pray
I work I clean I write
I kneel I rise
I fall and say:
and He breathes the breath of life in me
He whispers, “Still.
Now I see.