Faith Sheet

For his glory, my soul,

aloft in Israel, headed for Promise.

Light is a touchstone, fragrant free,

a brief of gold papyrus.

Names have become chi, a heart

ghosting towards life.

Feel a southern wind, such pain,

love and culture.

I’m

freely flying, somewhere low,

looking for yesterday.

Feel his glory, my soul,

adrift the north, seeking freedom.

Something tickles mind, aghast at

friends, found and secluded.

Hear a sylvan heart, ever to chant,

rising in waves—my God.

I’m fighting flatness, animated in

private, chunking liquor

to a furnace.

A sky is getting close, angst is

shedding, and

slumber is hibernating.

I hurried to feel a Ghost, a vernal

collar or midnight necktie.

So pitch a word, my soul, as light

as feathers and teardrops.