Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Calling

The spade, and the dark dirt, and coils of graverope.
Where every move made, fist flung, even help held
out is wrong, wrong, wrong. There is always a better way, always
some one thing that proves (truth is one like our God) that the one
I am is: Not. If you were
not the God that calls things that are
not as though they are and thereby makes
things be, I would be
undone.