Like Job, I’m waiting.
For them to take everything.
The house, the kids, the dog, the wife.
I’m waiting to sing.
My song of longing worry.
My song written for me.
By a God who waits in patient harmony with the stars and the mineral bodies.
Flickering in the wind.
Like wondering flags of bygone nations.
Listen to me before I lose all again.
“We are dust”, he said that night.
“We are dust and that’s it.”
Well, no thank you.
No thanks.
Cousin.
I’ve a thousand children.
All around me while I slumber.
Asking where they go when they die.
I’ve made so many promises.
All out the right of my mouth.
Whispered onward floating in the prairie winds.
I’ve no answer for the wee ones and no escape from the wondering minds.
But here we are in the chamber room.
Panting for the truth.
Dreaming of the river and the cleansing power of the calm waters.
Dreaming of our mother’s wedding and the countenance of the lord.
Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming with our heads on our little pillows and minds in heaven.
I’ve a thousand children.
All strewn about.
Asking where they go.
Asking where they go.
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