Chaz Hill

4 12 Easter 2B

Like a doubting Thomas . . .

like other nights,
professing something I often can't promise to keep,
sleep dodges my every move toward a comfortable bed,
like a donkey I wander staggering, clattering around the byways and
skittish skirt the highways,
turning into the gate, see the barn; I buck and kick up my heels
braying toward hay stacked in round full shapes
waiting for the settling in, and over beyond the fence
a stone's throw from the pines,
I see a mound of green green grass and prayer flags all aflutter
like lilies of the field, glorious in the cemetery of the animals long and recently passed,
and then sunset reaches up and over the spine of the farm, tickles down the hollowed out pond,
while the sky watches the river flow,
and night falls listening for
the sudden unexpected hoot of an owl,
the growl and howl of the roaming tiger and coyote,
the slither of snake through wooded bayou;
here is when I come out
from behind the fretting of days
to empty out
my soul
its wrinkled rogue mask,
wipe the wounded brow
and see how Jesus
and murky watery depths-
like a catfish old and crusty, lifting my head to hear a far away cry of

"Why hast Thou forsaken me?"

I swirl in the flow

c. hill 2012 04/13  Friday before 2nd Sunday of Easter

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