Words are born in the smithy
Of the circumcised heart
To seal the covenant
Between human and divine.
Upon receiving the noesis
Not from the pulp but
From the “costly discipleship”
Of the One who bids the disciple
To “pick up your cross and follow me”,
He follows Him humbly,
Avoiding the cloven prints
And admiring the innocence and purity,
On the straight and narrow path through
The orange groves and apple orchards,
and doesn’t mistake one for the other;
And he doesn’t commit the cardinal sin
Of slothfulness by dispensing willy-nilly
The saintly honor of Paul
To someone who wasn’t done stewing
In the sin of Saul.
