For John

For John*

The windows of the world are milked over
with the handprints of small men’s delights,
of jelly, peanut butter, religion, government,
money, misery, desire,
whatever.

Where sun once sliced through clear panes,
the morning knives cut rays to stones,
ours is an autumn of only dull, diffused days,
all leaf lines
melding.

Where are the men among the people,
yes, the people
coming a’washing with human poems,
with prophetic baptismal flannel rags,
wiping smears clean with elbow grease,
imagination?

The men among the people,
yes, the people
they are here, alive, fleshy, and
quiet as an Aspen’s turning,
cleaning the doorway

to God.

 

*Thanks for cleaning the windows, John.

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  • Lynn D. Morrissey

    Beautiful, Seth. And I want my eyes wiped clean (especially from my own presumptuous sins) so that I can better see God, so that I can better see those who need Him and Him in them. Bless you.
    Lynn