Changing Direction
A loser til you’re not.
Not a loser, a hotshot.
Keep on climbing
past wings and whatnot.
Looking down at your past;
can’t bypass your sins.
However, newfallen snow
will cover them; do not
cover them up; reminders
of the valley you dug
all by yourself; together
there is a you’ll-make-it.
Joy lets you taste manna
falling onto your tongue
and the juice of the grape
without distillation -
body and blood;
you’re a newborn babe.
When the trumpet sounds
you will not fall.
You’ll see the risen son
and thank God, and thank God.
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