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Clothesline Faith

Lord, tell me please,
In every detail,
The plan you have for me.
Then I can finger my way
along the time-line,
and never miss a beat.
I’ll be like a shirt on a clothes-line,
pegged fast, collared and cuffed,
carefully going nowhere,
needing nothing but my line.

Maybe not, Lord.
I don’t really need to know.
If I did, then like that shirt,
I might grow cold in love
empty-hearted,
narrow in my views.
It is much warmer -
though a bit uncertain -
to be instead
a shirt being worn,
on the arm of God.


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