--After Brueggemann

That each breath is a gift from God
remains real strange these years later
after first stumbling and fall. It was me,
arguing, the Bishop only smiled. The book

that breathes new life re-surfaces
in my own garden. My own?
Where tentativeness ceases,
listening never does,  So says

the Biblical scholar raising
language to alter that
which defends me,
a liberating way. What

is required? Walking
the poem across the abyss
without a net. What is required?
Of the man: Withholding

nothing of his being. Not me
looking for God, rather
God seeking me out.
Terror is anything but domestic.

Just breathing, already edited.
Fall down in joy and blindness!
Fulfillments already exceed the promised.
So many ways to read when new.

In, with, under, against.
Turning and returning.
Imagine the one who would protect God.
The one who calls Saturday the longest day.

Jim Bodeen
14 July 2017

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