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I long for
the God who
dabbles in chaos,
puts His finger
into my side,
a thorn to
stir my doubt;
pokes through
my hands
when I dare
to take up
a camera-like pen--
the God
who speaks to me
in the slow time--
of the outages
in a flurried life--
when even
a blowing
wisp of a
spring spore

30 Apr 00

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Contents - Lent, 2000

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