the making of an instrument

i asked

to be made an instrument

of thy will

thy peace.

they say

be careful what you ask for.

now this instrument -

what is it?

am i to be a tuba?

such a peculiar shape, you make me

curling me around myself

opening up here

closing down there

the heat of the fire

where i find myself

the smithery the pounding of the hammer

not exactly easy

but then, i asked only

for simplicity

is there not a softer gentler way?

hot coals in the mouth

earth torn assunder

torn mother from father

be of this world

not of this world -

fear not -

surely it is i not you

who set the path so steep.

maybe next time

i might be a fiddle.

gentle careful smoothing

i wouldn't mind

not quite so much pounding

hole-punching and harsh blowing.

or perhaps just a hand

to hold

in wonder

at your great symphony.