by Rev. Dr. Daniel C. Wilburn
60 miles per hour
the dove flies
and escapes the fowler’s snare
protect me from myself
you O One, true One, are ahead of me
O Love, O Lover of me and Knower,
who knew me before I was formed
you have a plan for me that
no superstition can conquer.
What judge can assess me?
None. No one knows my darkness
my sin goes before me
like an advance team, scouting out opportunity.
I am undone;
Perhaps the birds are demons, possessed, corrupted.
They call and sing
burdened and frenetic and panicked
they are full of scarcity and fright
they are worthless
yet you know each is worth more to you than gold
Not one falls that you are not mindful of it
Whom shall I fear then?
Death comes knocking – Parades!
And I run out into the street
to see what is the commotion.
“Look, it is DEATH! Be very afraid!
Don’t trust g-d for the One is away,
and the One is uncaring! Flee!”
But this is not like a bird.
A bird trusts you O One for its next
seed and bug, and bath and song
the birds sing to the sunrise and welcome
the morning illumination
All demons flee at the light.
the dawn kills fear.
For you O One are Light.
May we flee, flee, flee to you.
Doves fly at 60 miles per hour.