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God is Wearing

Father, is that not it?
that thread between every little prayer
wound around my every discision
awakened between the womb
and my everyday life
oh, how i have sought
to be untouchable like You
yet, even to be like You
and have all You do—
i am still
     life is
just a garment
that You are wearing
for a time, until
undressed and unfurled
You will come naked upon this world
like a limp rag, spineless on the floor
not even able to ask for the life it’s been given
not even able to breath without the body of God in it.
and every threat will be silent before
its quiet tapestry
for all things that have been, are
(and ever will be)
are rolled in a a waste basket
and washed in blood
and timelessness.
for the world, the mysteries
even untold things, must
be wrapped within Your presence
or truly cease to be.
(and my little sins
my quiet things
they are Yours
and You are breathing).


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