In the Midst

There is no place for poetry here.

Everyone has crowed around with.  Beer,

Talking and laughing, creating filled lightning praise

Of answers and yelling.  Telling jokes

Bullied into a broadcasted song.  

Where I forgot what I...  

"cheers beloved, cheers."

Through smeared glass I heard,

"quiet beloved...quiet."

And I wiped away everything between us, and

"come beloved, come."

O grace, 

That you would look upon my making sense

And leave it for swine.

My pearls are You staring into my eyes, close to my face;

when I feel You breathe.

O intoxicating solitude,

Through a blare of crowding glasses (the stuff of intoxication)

Be near.

Here I can understand Your quietness.