When we were oppressed and desperate,
Our thoughts traveled carrying
Caskets in the air.
We listened to a beehive that wasn't there.
Insects buzzed over our bodies.
I had neither room for a bed
Nor a step for a path.
Just of jump in place or to throw a stone
Was already a door, for my eyes were being fed
By a sweep of changes.
Sometimes we think
The end is coming,
But just then
The beginning appears.
The air shoulders our lives,
And that thing about the casket in our minds,
That turned out to be
The remainder of Jesus' life in us.
By the way,
Thought is the true flying saucer.