be a miracle

you were always so good at being a miracle

astounding in your generosity

doubtless you belonged to god

born to hay, willing to wander

source secrecy shrouded in starlight

with calloused fingers you brushed maggie’s wild hair behind her ear

later you pressed the sole of her foot with your thumbs until peace filled her face

once, with a schoolboy’s naïve voice

you whispered to wealthy men

“you are not yet dead, there’s still time”

your father spun an age of promises and death

but you birthed an intervention of faith

showed us the pleasures of life on the edges

the abundance of prayers by the sea

the potential of water to hold us

when we relinquish the weight of judgment

the healing possibilities hidden in a body

to trust the chapters written by mystery

and the crisis is

in your absence your name can become a spell of confusion

for centuries, your true face erased

your lessons lost in a tomb

but it’s not too late, there’s still time

your story tells us to become miraculous

there is a teacher in the desert

corruption might swallow the center…

slip to the margin, cling to the shameless

no one will understand your breath

but your skeletal whispers echo

your truth slips thru thieving fingers and lying tongues

because of you we know we can make mistakes

and be worthy of ritual

no holiness is above the reach of violence

a child of god still lives in the world

yes, if you spring forth from love

they will come with knives and nails

but there is life after crucifixion

and survival renders a miraculous swagger

yell the truth from the pulpit, in the temple, on the corner, at the table

roll the rock, kiss the sky

be the miracle