Their Witness His

This morning’s afternoon hopes to be

Of peace and painless consolations,

Love kind, kindness, sound security:

Freed man; fervid prayer and mentations.

Noon, after mourning doves flying flexed 

In fixed numbers, sort, soar, slightly spread:

Shook, shoulder-sigh and I sit row high next 

To a young girl; we have shared bread.

Her mom too; familiar faces lined,

Friends filed, like family, one journey;

Returning, turning from sin; one mind;

Content, the content of our souls sprung free.

So our sojourn is as nutmeg swirl

In a petite, cold porcelain cup

Of eggnog; poured, powdered, stirred to whirl:

World’s saints mark and flavor; saints to sup.

One by one we prep and pray, make way

To the One who gives to bind and loose;

Blind Mercy Divine, He takes away

The rancor of sin and its deadly noose.

Then I run to pray my penance, pleased

By the ease; this certainty; my resolve:

To execrate frail faults; fraught misdeeds;

To consecrate work, problems to solve.

For those who partake my love is great,

Rest assured: a cloud of witnesses!

We confirm each other; smiles, handshake,

Yet they are face to Face; their witness His!

-Gary Edward Geraci