Dancing in Ink

There’s no primitive

Jungle to evangelize

In my kitchen sink, 

But to talk to all

The others, you’d think

I’m cashing in truth

For dishes. But then You

Remind me that as much

As I’m not them, they’re not me,

Given to bouts of dancing in ink

And staining paper with Your

Love that gave me paper

And dishes in the first place.

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