There's very little sacred space
in this place, this head that
never stops turning. Churning,
always churning out a flutter of new thoughts,
none of which quite makes it
to the top
before I stop to smell a new flower,
and check an old box,
and chase after that thought I lost yesterday
in the usual way.
So Jesus, take this space,
this place,
this mind--
take my sacred space and time,
because they aren't truly
mine.
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