Lookout Mountain, June

Wherever orange and ochre ditch-lillies
Cradle a rural highway’s curve or the
Summersweet goodness of black raspberries
Calls out from an overgrown, vacant lot,
Recall an abundant God who delights
In the mysterious placement of gifts
To slake the thirst of withered, weary souls.

In the chirps of bluebird hatchlings crying
For their food from within a trashcan nest,
In every kind and holy word spoken
Amid hurried striving for peace and rest,
In unsought, unbought graces coursing through
The veins of the world, receive the oracle—
Witness that there are no cosmic orphans.

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