
Worship & Waves

Faith, Health, and Other Musings
May our minds flourish with creation, and may our hands never deny its expression.
She pulls me
gently
down a well-worn path,
littered with ferns and old letters,
and brings me to
a flowery clearing.
“This is always where they leave,”
she says,
indicating the barren field.
“Yes,” I say,
“this is it.”
“This is what?”
“This is a perfect place
to build a home.”
Breathing heavy,
I wait for light to leave the sky –
longing for your nighttime spell
a brutal, tortured tongue-tie.
You haunt me with your drawling voice
dark and yet unseen,
you disturb my foolish, failing heart
and call it Halloween.
Poetry is for the living,
but death
is what grants it meaning,
making time so fleeting
and love so precious
that even poetry
can scarcely
touch it.
But how
do you
give an
appetite
even
to my eyes?
-L.M.G.
“I would do
everything for you”
sounds romantic
until someone
asks you
to do it.
I’ve been terrified
by things many
but nothing
has shaken me
like
how much
I love you.
You are poetry,
every lyric
more inscrutable,
yet more beautiful,
drawing me deeper
into a reverie
filled
with flowers
and lace.
Written words
are lovers,
climbing into your heart
and changing
who you’ve
been.
I can’t
deny
having known you;
we have
the same
pattern
of
stitches.