run - run
I sit like God sits, here in myself (deep in
my self)—sit as God sits in sadness, sits in
anger, fear and pain, a great mass of feeling,
in the oh-so-big. And I wade through
the oh-so-big: we swim together, me and him,
and he holds my hand when I drown, though
I notice only drowning, not his hands.
It’s funny, that. Real funny. And these funny
moments buzz like bumble bees, when I can only
laugh at that former burden borne, and the
oh-so-big seems oh-so-small; and then
I praise him, praise him for the no-problems,
the silly me, forget myself (my self) and
no longer sit but run-run like God runs.
