24 November 2006


The railing, with the vines tendriling at the ends,
Was old and black iron, paint peeling.
The bolt which held it to the mortar
Lay in a hole twice its size.
No one noticed it at the cement steps
With the brick columns.
It was just a railing—unobtrusive.

Until, leaning on it, I gave way
And fell as it released its hold,
And I sat in the leaves by the porch
And held a railing.

And so it is with things on which we lean.
Their usefulness
And simple beauty
Are not recognized
Until we fall.

On Finding God with Savannah

Do You feel the way I feel,
Now as I cradle her, her first breaths
Inhaling a new world?
My new creation fidgets,
Restless for the newness of what I find worn.
Do You feel the inexplicable
That I, the first human she has ever seen,
Imprisoned by her amethyst eyes,
Feel tonight?
Do You feel this ache which feels like heartbreak
In its depth,
But richer and more hopeful than the first day of
When I cry?
Do You treasure me this way
When You hold me?

This is a prayer
For all of us fatherless
And for all of us failed fathers
That You will hold us
Closer than I hold her tonight.

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