Communion of Saints

A web of grace

That lets us climb:

He is Yours and 

You are mine.

His the power that makes us whole,

His transfusion, Soul to soul.

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I drive with one hand

And not because I want to.

I am twisted, shoulder aching,

Holding my baby’s still-pudgy fingers

And singing soothingly. 

The world offends him-

Smiles from strangers and

Any restraint.

Shrieks shake my teeth

And kicks rock my seat,

Rapidfire, staccato-

The drum that calls to

Superhuman calm.

I, too, balk at restraint,

And soothing your storms:

Physician’s balm.