(No. 50)The First of July

The latest I hoped to wait befalls today,
A tremulous month on call for God’s great acts.
Yet here I sit a steward in want of a jewel,
In wait of permission to publish.
I scroll the work to see if it stands as is,
Yet find a bug to pinch or a word to turn
In sign—my fleece—that God asks me yet to wait—
With scriptures dancing lively in concern.

O sovereign shaper of freely yielding clay—
O vast, dynamic One who hoarded not your essence—
Do you lament with sighs profound
The wayward slant of step your loved ones chose to take?
Bestridden by your mighty stride
We crook our knees as you turn the tide.


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