Sunday Sermon Notes: Getaway

Columbus, Ohio

The Word did

not fall

through pulpit, or

lips today--

but sang

out from streets

of a strange

city

from stone

cathedrals that

whirred by in

window

from books

and beer

from dainty turn

of orchid

beard

light through

fatidic glass turned

by Chihuly’s

hand

and reflecting

what Your hand

turns

it whispered on

rooftop

over reaching branches

and sighed with

quiet of

cascading water on

stone

in the body of

black

dog

in the middle

of the road;

I cried,

heard Your voice

and wondered--

was he loved?

in garrulous

market

and

erudite pages

that took my

breath

in first flutter

of diaphanous wings

wriggled free

of chrysalides

you spoke in

bricked streets and

ivied trellis gates…

in art the scale

of a

building side

fresh bread

and pickles

and the scent of

popcorn.

Ah, yes

One

who speaks—

never stop

and let my

ear be always

tuned

to

your

sweet

melody.