Where God Lives

God lives inside my walker
That ungraceful, ugly metal stand
whose wheels squeak,
in shrill and whinging complaint,
and the back legs catch
on every bump and crack and
rough-edged corner of carpet
strategically placed, just so.

I stumble every time,
and hold the handles tighter.

Humility is a Blue Flame - for the counting of the Omer

Humility is a blue flame,
dipping into indigo
and edged in black,
It is cool water
that flows in small
ripples and puddles
at my feet.
It is balm
for a weary soul,
and a heart that
cannot find its
rhythm, that is
lost a bit,
that is chipped
a bit.

It is blue flame,

And when I stand
too close to that flame,
and the waters rise
like a torrent,
and I am battered
and beaten
in the wake of
my weakness,
compassion comes,
a grace of blessing,
lifting me from
my humiliation
to stand

near the blue flames
and cool waters;
the balm of humility,
the breath of compassion,
Whole.