From the Greek Krisis
The turning point
In a disease.
Which way will it be?
To the light?
To Hope…the fever breaking?
To acceptance of descent into death
Will it be the Inevitable?
The last wrong turn?
There is no set limit
On the number of turns in a journey
In a life itself
Which is after all:
A sexually transmitted disease.
“Turn, turn, turn”
To everything there is a season.
A song made from a scripture
A scripture read aloud from code
Written on our collective heart.
We know them
Even when we hear them the first time
We feel we have known them always.
Vive La Revolution!
While we say of God:
“There is no shadow of turning with Thee.”
We live in the shadow of turning.
To be born
What is true of God beyond stasis?
This presence that does not turn and casts no shadow?
My God hides like a glimmering in the heart
She tingles in the hairs on the back of my neck
When I tell a lie.
He haunts the strands of my DNA.
They vibrate to His rhythm
Calling me from sleep
Clear as the voice of Seraphim
To cry out
For no known reason.