the hammer of your beating heart,
was always meant to make music
that broke
Jericho's walls, coaxing them
tumbling down around her.
open your hands
wide enough to hold oceans
(for surely the heart
is an ocean
and more).
all of us, these vessels
of clay, the sand we are made of
thirsty for the Voice
that has led you
since before you can
remember. the movement,
in the womb
where God's hands shaped yours
just. so.
just exactly so.
the breaking (what we think
is this breaking)
is really this returning,
back to who
we more truly are.
do not be afraid of returning
to sand, dear one.
sand takes a thousand shapes,
a clay vessel, just one.
+
sand is lifted
easily to the wind, carried
to every far corner of this place, rides
in the sandals of Jesus, gets caught
in the folds of Joseph's coat.
a jar's own weight keeps it
flightless.
+
and when the lightning
reaches (the energy of
this Voice in motion)
clay shatters, loses itself,
but sand becomes glass, allowing
a Light to pass through it.
when breaking comes,
friend, remember
sand. those tiny pieces,
(the millions)
and all of the lovely
windows, they one day
become.
*
