raised, open cups held
aloft, receive the joy of song
and words,
healed in the hearing.
We ferry the precious
bounty via voice and
tone, conduits of the balm
that is the bounty of praise,
pouring into vessels,
empty to be filled.
Parched lips receive
the draught and splash in
the glory drops, wash in
the words, bask in
the golden sound as it channels
life through the veins.
We slake the thirst and
all are watered in turn,
rivulets of your Presence
soaking like canals in the
desert, skirting the dry land.
~~~~~~~~
This poem came out of a Writer's Retreat my friend Kimberlee Ireton and I led last year called "Abide." We're meeting again this September in the Cascade Mountains of Washington--maybe you'd like to come?
