In lacing of our hands
I see where Jesus stands –
In between our thumbs,
His friends, the crooks and bums.
...
Softly swings the door upon its post,
And in the dusk, muttered curses from our host
Stumbling gracefully over her own feet.
...
I sat on the porch with the evening breeze
And the wolf-dog cried bark, bark, bark,
And made the night feel closer
With that claustrophobic density
...
Holding Hands
In lacing of our hands
I see where Jesus stands –
In between our thumbs,
His friends, the crooks and bums.
Enfolding of our palms
Relates the deepest psalms,
Fingers crossed and held
While music rose and swelled.
I pray to Him above,
But His sweetest love
Is felt when you and I
Are looking to the sky –
With your hands in mine,
God is in each line;
For He feels closer, too,
When I am holding you.