The sound of crickets leach rhymes from the sage
While a child of God walks a crooked trail,
Through the hills where the lingonberry bush
Hides a young moon’s light that’s high in its pale.
A tender lilting scent of lilac swoon,
The labor of the child in cotton’s flow.
She strives to reach the lakeshore levee soon;
The Liberty will dock at dawn’s first crow.
In a shop, it smelled of wax on the floor,
Saw loom above at the top of the stairs.
She’d heard tell, never had seen one before;
A Laodicean- indiff’rent of God.
He was a smithy, all covered in soot,
The lampblack pitch she saw smeared all about.
He wore an undershirt, bare arms, black boots,
“Come, pay me now. I teach. I show you how.”
He made a contact on an element
By polishing the luster of a stone.
With pride & time, the skill to make by hand;
A lithograph that shows an ancient home.
And once the child was ferried back to God,
She handed him the stone that he may see.
The other angels gathered close around;
The stone was blank, it was a tiny cloud.