The Lord watches over the innocent;
I was brought very low, and He helped me.
I believed, even when I said
“I have been brought very low.”
In my distress I said, “No one can be trusted.”
(Psalm 116:5, 9)
Too honest, too open, I am —
too trusting when I manage
to trust. My reward:
misunderstanding and abuse
from time immemorial, a pattern
apparently not soon to change.
I exist now in this rectangular
brick courtyard with the glass
door at one end. Lovely brick
I’ve painted yellow and green
with a squeaky roller. Open blue
sky above me where sun always shines.
My face turned upwards, my hands
outstretched: “It’s You and me,
dear Lord.” Folks file past
the glass door. I pay them
no mind; I’m not interested any
longer in their world. Sure,
I could join them at any time —
but it’s You and me, dear Lord.