Looping Home

We are poured out full from the one bright source, 
open-palmed and ample-hearted, 
and the whole of the errand, the holy of it, 
is gladness, handed to every soul you pass.

For love let loose comes looping home, 
a warm current, a quickening river, 
and the marrow learns what the spirit always knew: 
that God is no watcher posted high above us on the hill. 
God is the good that the river runs through you.

So I wish you the bodily, the certain, the settled knowing, 
the deep yes, the low lamp glowing, 
that you are held, and holy, and whole. 
Watch how the whole room leans kind toward you then, 
for what we ladle out, we grow, 
and what we trust, the morning comes to show.

Smile at the stranger and the mirror both. 
Hum that old thin wild mercury tune, 
Mister Tambourine and the jingle-jangle morning, 
your own face surfacing slow through the dancehall blue.

And when some other face drifts up as you read, 
don't ask how it came, or why, or who. 
That's the love, friend, finding its road again. 
Pass it on. It cannot help but move. 
It was always, only, ever meant for you.