The Only Life We Have

Time will catch us by surprise; Reach out with greedy talons, Scratching moments from our eyes. Bucolic broccoli lives. Born again Christians, Prophets all. Born again and again and again. Each measured moment choose Which crier’s call. Moments laid by each to waste; Unseen, unused, unanswered. Gone, With contents never faced. No touch unopened such As gift embraced. Alive. Dripping in remission. This world was taught to us. How to live, was not. All cheeks touched; by brushed and gnarled, Sinewed hand of God, Who walks the fields Of flowing wheat Between each downy hair On each surrendered arm, Soothing voice, alluding voice, Walking softly, Long through single minds. Embracing flowered memory-beams, Son, and He and We, entwined. Touched in mornings When the body’s most alive. Held in evenings When the fragile soul can least survive. Reached with broken arms, Stunted thoughts, Impaled on jagged edge of broken spirit. Holiness escapes us In each moments frigid death; Each life from all, Torn in silenced breath. Wiser men so soon become, Our younger Gods, And we will make this new life work Because it is the only one we have.