The Twenty Fifth Sunday

Her girlhood game of spinning to fall tilted on the warm cut grass
in snail-paced ancient wonder. This was the miracle

how gravity could hold her. A force grounded counter-
balanced. The perceived stillness of a flying planet

across the arc of time she emptied her calendar
found herself lost her mind. No plan came true

through years of shelter greed justice
crime only a world giving birth to night and day

horizons draw death from life. Between her suburban
church and the shattered earth, her hymnal hit the floor

in ordinary time