This town is quiet.
And YHWH I don't know what you're doing, but I trust you.

And I just want you to know that I'll go where you open doors.
Kicking and screaming, and then with whimpering, but I'll go.

Are my feet wandering to Pakistan? To kiss the feet of children and sit in tents,
drinking chai with bedouins and showing love greater than Allah ever could?

To the heart of Brooklyn, cooking dinner and opening the doors
to broken hearts and weary backs.

Or, beloved please tell me not back to this town?
This alcohol and sugar saturated place
of football and guns and.. and what?
Hearts that I love and places I don't want to see.

There are no homeless here, I beg you lead me on.
I said yes and I will continue to say yes to you,
but I am fearful.

And wounded, and breathless to begin again.