Come Sunday morning

God give me, your servant

John Jacob, strength

To hike uphill to St Hubert’s

 

Where I can carve

My faith into heartwood

And kneel down

On a workman’s worn knees

To cry out in quiet prayer to heaven

 

Then descend back down

Into the dark of Boone

Creek where kingfishers

Patrol the steep banks

 

If my house should fall

Toward the sin of ruin

Into the rich duff

Of the forest’s soul

 

Let someone take notice

Sing a song, pen a poem-

A blues hymn

For the belief I tended

For so many Sabbaths

 

Where all things are slowly

Being pulled into the river