“Christmas traffic”

Three, two, one, liftoff

Signals Mission Control. And off they go.

To the dark parts of the planets

In their pressurized spacesuits,

Cocooned in technology, the astronauts.

Mission control whispers in someone’s ear.

Yes, she says, I will. And in due time

A different traveler makes a quieter journey,

Arriving hungry, naked, but true to instructions,

Docking on Earth, taking the one small step.

U. A. Fanthorpe

"And forgive us our trespasses"

(A meditation on each word(s) 

of the Lord's prayer)

As we cleanse

our temples

and rid 

ourselves of 

all the souvenirs

from the places

where we thought

we could find

unconditional love,

Lord,

please take them

away

along with our

desires for them.

And afterwards, 

 lead us

your rebellious children

in a service

of rededication.