Punk Funk Guru

For Chad Groves

Here is a mystery
That's obvious to see:
The plainclothes god in me
That gives me breath to be.

I do not make this breath
That that forms this shibboleth.
No height, nor width, nor depth
May save my soul from death,

But only one thing: Love,
An oil anointed dove,
Descending from above,
This spirit I speak of:

This force of life, this god,
That dwells in human bod,
That raises up from sod
Both love and peace in blood.

Breath deep this holy power
That dwells in you an hour
Before it fades, your flower,
And death drops seed in shower

Upon the blessed earth,
The womb from spirit births
Abundance raised from dearth,
New temples beyond worth.

The spirit grows in you.
No other work to do
But love, and as you do,
Allow the spirit, too.