Signs & Wonders

Come, signs and wonders,
pour out on me:
A street sign, stop sign, anything
that could show me where I should be.
And while I'm talking wonders
I'll wonder why they seem so hard to see,
when the sensitive and wise tell me they're all around,
these signs and wonders.

Don't say it's obvious;
it's not, to me.
I know: the Word is in my mouth and in my heart.
But sometimes my heart is empty,
and if I speak when my mouth is full
that's something no one wants to see.
So I never miss a good chance to shut up,
if it's not obvious.

(At least she's here, but she is losing patience.
She's not alone: I'm losing patience too.
She can't be sure who she will wake up with on any given day,
or what strange gods I'll serve with breakfast.)

Come on you signs and wonders,
just lay it down on me.
Now I'm not one to shake a fist at heaven, but I'd try
nearly anything
to take this road I've travelled
and make it count for something
that's cleaner than a string of roadside billboards
declaring signs and wonders.