Words like Christ are broken
reeds wind blows upon whistling
wind against me. Where is my friend
I hold in grief? Who shores me up
in joy? I’m about done turned out
at the end of this long year
needing more than myths and men
of standing. Need none of them.
Need God to get down
in my shoes, shove his bloodied feet
in, tread the miles. Words are little
help along this path; walk
a ways and see what comes
of steady movement, faith
in one unsteady foot
in front of the other.