Mud-Spittled Eyes On A Rainy Fall Sunday Morning

It’s the glory of eyes,
being blessed to be opened
with mud sweat and spit,
blind eyes become other
and seeing What others
insist isn’t there while
It pulses bright-brilliant
and shining with Glory…
the eyes tell the story,
it’s the glory of eyes.And the glory of hearts,
jumpstarted by Pain
descended from heaven
to bleed on the earth?
It’s the glory of hearts
to demand that blind eyes
become windows of wonder,
pried savagely open to
that fire Burning
Behind the Beyond!And thus all my ancient
inadequate questions
about life and death
shall be visible now
in my yearning mortality,
here in the midst
of the dark and the light
all surrounded by Light
and glowing with Glory
and glad in the grime.And the Kingdom come in
looks into my heart-windows
thru mud-spittled eyes
at this Mystery Landscape
this Numinous-Journey
of Startling Story
(we are Their Mystery,
we’re Their Fire Burning,
we’re Their Numinous
Shocking Startling Story!)That’s the Crux of it!
That’s the Implicative Crossroad
where heaven meets earth
and earth defines heaven
and we’re given eyes
(our very own crossroads)
to see things Beyond us
True things and Real
even though there are
tears in these