discarded garment

discarded garment

Father,
this life is
a garment
You are wearing
for a while, until
undressed and unfurled
You come naked upon this world.

all existence, a limp rag, spineless on the floor;
not even able to ask 
for the life it’s been given
not even able to breathe 
without the body of God in it.

every threat is silent before this quiet tapestry, 
wrinkled, worn and tossed 
into an existential laundry;
for all things that were, are, and ever will be,
have been crumpled and washed 
inside blood and timelessness—
the world, the mysteries,
every told and untold thing, 
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).