Can glory be wrapped up in nouns
or tied with verbs, like string?
It seems like a disservice
when fireworks break at my ribs
and embers shower down
and Billows blow to flame.
I scuff my shoes, apologize
for words that leave their tracks
all over holy ground.
But, what if glory wait for words—
each word a branch, a leaf,
a bush through which to blaze?
Photo courtesy of Marcin Czaja via stocksnap.io
