The World Itself Could Not Contain the Books That Should Be Written

The Word became flesh
(so many Words)
that neither psalmist
nor apostle could contain--
and filled the womb of Mary
like the books upon the shelf.

Epiphany Collect

O Lord of law--o Lord of locusts--
God of baptist-prophet's focus,
Lord who seized the vipers' tail--
the unclean cleaner's Kingdom, hail!

Praise the Incarnate, at whose immersion
truth--law and locusts--was wholly subverted:
the sinners now saints, the saints are revealed
as sinners with hearts as hardened as steel.

So prepare ye, then, the way of the Lord:
white horse and rider with double-edged sword--
one side a blade, and the other a plowshare--
raising the wheat and razing the tares.

Morning in Beaver

Bronzéd sunlight breaks into the room
beneath the door, about the shade.
Outside songbirds sing their morning tune:
the op'ning act before the clock tow'r plays.

So too, the tower plays in precedent
of when God's beams will break into the earth
and, like songbirds, angels sing triumphant:
the op'ning act before the world's rebirth.

I Am the Vine, and You Are the Branches

Like a stubborn weed--the Church, it grows--
an old thorn tree that survives all throes.
Chop its limbs or burn its stump,
you cannot top the Church's trump:
the root is Christ, and he stays strong--
and so the Church grows ever on.