In the midst
Of White Russians and
Bloody Marys,
Screwballs and
Whisky sours,
A million personal revolutions
Split me open to simplicity
And the sheer beauty
of the work of God
A silent economy of grace
Spilling through souls
Carving new paths
A milky meltwater
Tumbling through eddies and sweeping
Into still pools and
Fertile plains