I listened to a Prophet’s voice
on the Sabbath,
then stood on a ladder/
in a frigid Wisconsin lake
to put up a clean bird house,
as directed by my father.
For us both,
holy, cleansing events
have happened
in that same water,
and purple martins
fly in
from Brazil
on the south wind.
Addendum: Just In Time — April 4, 19:23 p.m.
My dad gave me a/
joyful high-five today:The/
martins’ scout found home.
What changes must I/
make in my life to be found/
worthy in His sight?
It doesn’t matter/
if folks oppose God’s servants,/
as long as I don’t.
OR
It doesn’t matter/
if folks oppose God’s servants,/
‘cuz I never will.
A great benefit /
of home worship is raising/
hands in praise, weeping.
One of my favorite/
things: Lay in beams of sunlight/
and hear God’s counsel.
Who am I? Father,/
son, friend, writer. Above all,/
I’m a Child of God.
Why do I play in/
fields of weeds and tares, when I/
know where the truth grows?
Good people pray hard/
to help us through word and deed./
Let’s help them bless us.
— of President Eyring, weeping April 2 11:20 a.m.
In Wisconsin woods,/
you can listen to prophets /
in flannel and jeans.
I do this, and I/
do that, just like her former/
guy. Sigh. Say goodbye.