Morning Maranatha*

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MORNING MARANATHA*


Lean in a little closer, Lord, 

the way we so inclined to hear

what Mimi muttered. Her sheets

were white beneath the ceiling

fan. A little closer still, for I too 

am short of breath, (a little blue


around the lips


of late,) but I can yet, like her, 

rasp hoarsely to a bending ear. 

What is it that I’d like to say?

How best articulate what stays

unsummoned from the tongue? 

Ah here it is. This won’t take long.


I'm weary, Lord.


*1 Cor 16:22b

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