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a voice crying out in the postmodern wilderness

Shhhh

I hoped to become
the strong and silent type,
but I’ll settle for

silent.

Before light I walk Covey
down empty streets
and pray like
a reserved madman,
audible enough.

There is nothing new
under the sun,
but it’s just so loud
these days.

Leaves scratch cool concrete
this time of year.

I lean close to hear Hayes
smack raspberries.

Buttons click off beat
in the dryer.

The Lord can certainly
shout over the din,
but he won’t.

I set the table with
gold-edged pages,
thin as the skin of
a saint at the door.

If you listen closely,
you will hear trumpets.

A guru once said
obscurity is the enemy

but

the long leg of this journey
is learning who you’re not.

Partake and Give Away

The Cost