Good morning Father,
At times I feel the burn of Your Holiness;
to which the term awe is only fit to apply.
How you are the perfection, the genesis, the fount —
and, by which the butterfly flutters at all.
The precision and order, the beginning, the origin;
and, the love by which we joy and pain over.
You wrap it all up, hold it together, Grace;
when chaos and bedlam are restless.
At times I feel the burn of Your Holiness;
untouchable, unaffected, undefiled.
I feel the sear of the Immaculate Home.
by Mo Watson
2019
