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feels like a Sunday
stuff can wait...
up early before the others
the place to myself
light filtering in, catching things
blinking away the dust in these eyes
could be a Wednesday, but it feels like a Sunday
a license to linger, to roam
out beyond clapboards and pained glass, nature rambles its sermon
the others favor sleep, treasure it
and I, morning
tallying THiS blessing...
feels like a Sunday, or what i once knew that day to be...
reshelving the scattered
and on the seventh day...
lighting candles, and wisdom
thanks, and grace
quiet, and answers
song, and spirit
clasped hands, and good will
lingering, and remembering
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