“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,

please take them
along with our
desires for them.

And afterwards, 
 lead us
your rebellious children
in a service
of rededication.