When you turn to me, I sense a draft upon the acres.
I see a fragrant mirror across the lake.
When you turn to me, there is a structure.
I can’t begin to glance its shape.
When you turn to me, my eyes go drifting,
Sifting through the rakes.
And when you turn to me, my widow’s peak
Goes cryptic like a snake.
When you turn to me, my open smile
Delivers for us bland desires.
My idle mind goes lighted
And the crimes of christ go mighty,
Falling just beyond my reach.
If you’d learn, I might well teach.
But ancient darknesses go shrouded
And never understood to pout, his
Sermons don’t go shimmied,
They go shaking from their reach.
When you turn to me, my back goes spasm.
When you turn to me, I’ll preach
That only patterns do go famously,
You’re right to patter out.
When you turn to me, I’ll say to sing
Without the weight of doubt.