hold it all together.

Cathedrals and catacombs are
nothing like this cinderblock sanctuary
with its sky-like simple ceiling,
though not as blue as some I've seen.
My sovereign Lord will hold it all together.

My mind is on my homes and
my heart is with another.
This language is too easy for my tongue.
How can I praise like this?
My sovereign Lord will hold it all together.

Well-rounded, like a puddle spreading
with nothing to contain the hopes I start
excepting space and time
and a desire for shape.
My sovereign Lord will hold it all together.

The smell of autumn drying wind
wets my eyes as I ask:
How will whatever is left be one
once my chaff is weathered away?
My sovereign Lord will hold it all together.