Someone, give us the strength
to survive this particular onslaught
of cell-death and other indignities
Last night, while I was at the piano,
my landlady pounded the butt end of a rusty musket
against my chamber door.
To all appearances, she hates my sonata.
Our Father who art in me
You are the One I love
The One who hurt me
The One who seeks the truth
Let all the Good Samaritans of the earth come forth in such numbers as to overwhelm the wickedness of the Trump administration with a love of God and neighbor so great that all manner of goodness shall prevail.