canticle 130

i dangle my toes over
    the curb of my heart,
        my toes washed in
those tears racing
    towards the storm drain,
my keening words
        echoing through the
                empty streets;

if you wrote all my sins
on the blackboard
you would run out of schools,
    but the Spirit stays after class,
    banging dusty death out of the
        erasers
begging your pardon
for Crossing
        out your work;

more than those
who watch the clock
on the graveyard shift,
    i wait (we wait!) for hope
    to be the lyrics of
        the music of your heart,
more than a rooster
scanning the horizon
for that first glimpse of dawn -

we hope
    for you . . .

(c) Thom M. Shuman (from "Dust Shaker")