My hands move quickly in the wind

Tying prayers into knots

My frigid joints ache as they work

A wide net is cast in the open air

Across a wide cliff edge

Overlooking the sea 

 

After a day of crude labor

I know tomorrow brings

Butterflies

Caught and released 

To a more forgiving terrain 

 

I did not seek out this occupation

It fell into my hands long ago

I can’t recall the moment when

I only know I am different now

 

I remember how I felt as a child

Still green and not quite rooted 

Soot on my knees

A hem caked in mud

Covered in linen from neck to ankle 

Purity, innocence, 

Yet to be marred with the stains 

That sinfulness spreads 

The disease that comes with living

Revelation 4:9 

The mud climbs up and clings

 

I won’t perform bitterness and hope

I exist in a state of knowing

Reaching for truth and solace

Casting the net among painful memory

Releasing when conditions

Are far more forgiving 

 

Loving how I live is a practice

Loving myself is secondary

While life happens around me

And not within me

I exist as art that rebels

Shakes the ground, and

Screams like blinding light