Jhost

A weak, westerly wind wove its way through the crackling branches canopied above. A full moon, large but wan and sickly filtered bluish moonbeams to the forest floor. In the middle distance, far up the footpath back to the main throughfare, the hum of a solitary, sodium-vapor lamp could be heard as it cast its hazy orange beams on the desolate stretch of road. It was important to focus on these things, to be present. Mary understood this. On these cool, dry nights, this focus came easy. A half-spent cigarette continued to smolder, pinched between a thumb and forefinger in her gloved right hand resting against her thigh. She leaned back against the corrugated metal shack and tried to breathe deep. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Calm was important. She reckoned another five minutes would help get back in the right state of mind. No such luck. A sharp, metallic rattle broke out with a clatter at the bolt lock on the door to her left disengaged. The door swung wide, and the

Yellow, muddy, unclean hands, We thrust our hands deep, Air bubbles burp and squelch, And our faces screw into looks of disgust. But why? "From dust you came, and to dust you shall return." And did not the Lord coat His own fingers in the stuff, And bring light and vision to that poor, blinded man? From this mess came treasure, Cherished beauty, The most loved of all Creation, Comprehending all, and so too my beloved. Yellow, muddy, Hardening, solidifying, Silty slush to form, order, And statuesque beauty. Please never once feel shame, That you sprang from that viscous mixture, It was God who drove fingers deep, To collect and to find you. Providence has given you to me, A solemn charge to protect and love, What was raised into this lovely vessel, And cherish for all my days. Yellow, muddy, unclean hands, Both mine and yours enjoined, To be caked, dripping, and purified, Plunged heart-deep into this thick and most holy baptism.

Your trappings all so soft and shiny, Eyes round lamps that glow so grand, Your soul was always on display for me, My lion and my lamb. Statuesque like one of Judah, You had all at your command, But you never make it or felt or known, My lion, and my lamb. Regal grays and browns and blacks, Diaphanous and deep by bands, Nothing in your spectrum lacks at all, My lion, and my lamb. Mouth flung wide but tongue so gentle, Never once a reprimand, Always open to my embrace, Oh, my lion, and my lamb. In my arms you lay unfolded, Whether I walked, sat, or stand, No other creature quite as patient, As my lion, and my lamb. Though I tended to your needs, And jested about the demands, It was you who carried me throughout, My lion and my lamb. I accept with grace your friendship, Deserved not by any man, How beautifully I’m condescended, By my lion and my lamb In loneliness you held me, In victory, you took my hand, No affection did you reprobate, My lion and my lamb. Redeemed by our