Is that you

Is that you
Your dark eyes all seeing but not seen
behind a wall secreted in an alter
quietly waiting in a confessional, ready to forgive.
In each station of the cross, boxed in
linen robes belted with a rope
sandals leather strapped, bare toed.
Is that you in the flickering candle
beneath the stained glass, glowing?
Is that you in the magnolia? full scented,
And in the roses by the wall,
on the benches and the pews
in the chapels and gardens
in the rooms and in the pond,
where the tide changes in the river,
is that you?




Its ok to be crooked, bent over
curled up in a ball, on a bench
in a tree, down a well, under the stars,
in the rain, up a wall, behind a door,
under the stairs, on the roof, in a car
under the bed, on the beach.
Naked, dressed, with a coat no gloves,
big boots, no shoes, in your socks,
without a bra, in a hat.
It’s ok to be crooked,
life tried to do it’s ironing
while I was sleeping, before I woke up
and said ‘hey, I’m crooked and I’m happy this way’.
It’s ok to be crooked, at work, in the shops,
down the park, in the wood, by the river,
in a field, up a hill, on a plane,
on a bike, on a train, in the bath, it’s ok.