I had no choice in my salvation,
Where I was taken.
But I didn’t find it there.
There was None Beyond the washing of feet,
Tho loudly proclaimed in rituals. A
It was a grieving heart
That took me upon wayward paths,
Where I found
Tabernacles in the swaying trees,
The green writhing river;
Children and innocence
Upon the breeze;
Kernels of truth
In the quietest of sermons
Spoken by the moon.