The Twenty Fifth Sunday

Ordinary Time

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

5 thoughts on “The Twenty Fifth Sunday

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  1. Heavy lines leading to quite a heavy intel in form of an imagery on this writing. Such Talent! Amazing. – Cezane

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