I balance myself
   so delicately
on haves and have-nots.

"What do I have that you do not?"
      this gives me life; purpose.
I have done what you lack.

"What have you done that I have not?"
       and suddenly the world falls beneath my feet.
I am not so good as you anymore.

I balance myself
   so delicately
on haves and have-nots.

O Lord, my God
Would you consecrate my lungs such that the air I breathe be holy?
O Lord, my Savior
May each shuddering breath be yours; Divine.

O Lord, my God
Would you consecrate my throat such that the water I drink be wine?
O Lord, my Protector
May each desperate swallow be yours; Heaven.

O Lord, my God
Would you consecrate my palms such that the ones I touch be angels?
O Lord, my Guide
May each careful stroke be yours; Blessed.

O Lord, my God
Would you consecrate my soul such that my deeds be pure?
O Lord, my Shepherd
May each deliberate act be yours; Transcendent.

Do you mind that I might seek you out?
I am not certain what this feeling is, this glowing fire that I have lit inside of myself.
Sometimes I hope that it might consume me entirely.
Yet I strike the match such that it burns just enough to pleasantly warm my thoughts.

Do you mind that I might think of you?
I am not certain why this feeling is, this divine light which I myself have cast upon you.
Sometimes I hope that it might fade into nothingness.
Yet I stoke the embers such that they may never turn cold.

Do you mind that I might wonder about you?
I am not certain how this feeling is, this burning sun which sets often and not at all.
Sometimes I hope that it may warm you as it does me.
Yet I stare into the flames such that they begin to fade without my intervention.

Here we lay, victims to a divine and unyielding power.
Yet in another land it is I who stands on the precipice.
I do not fear, I do not love, I do not long in this, my creation.

Here I lay, at peace in a world of my own making.
I may finally ascribe divinity to myself.
I do not hide, I do not reach, I do not withhold in this, my creation.

O, come now my brothers.

Come weep at the river that I myself have dredged.

The toil, no, the fruit of my labor is borne.

Unto you all who may reap its rewards.

O, come now brothers.

Your sweet notes I hear, crying out.

Watch as I slice myself open.

And turn the river red with blood.

I sit at the base of a tree, and it is summer.

Here is gold streaming through the leaves, dappling the ground with sunspots.

I look past my boots into a pasture full of souls.

Here are Aesop's Fables by my side, drawing familiar faces close... or pushing them far.

I feel the warmth of this heaven before me.

Here are joys and tears and adventures both big and small.

I hear the sound of a river tangling and untangling itself among rocks and sediment.

Here is James Taylor reminding us that this old world must still be spinning 'round.

I know you are here with me, even though I do not know you well, I have not met you yet, and you are my best friend.

Here is my past and present and future, and I feel our first kiss and the secrets you kept safe and the night we lay on the rocks under the stars and the only time I remember you holding my hand and how loudly we sang in the car.

I will live here, I will die here.

Here is my happy place.