sunday mornin'

i am no Galileo
but I have
counted stars on my ceiling
while
i held the universe
in my arms
my folks were commoners
but i have danced
in the kitchen
with royalty
on the front porch
to the creakin’
of an old swing
in a simple language
with a soft twang
i have remedied
a few psychosis
without a pill, Freud, or alcohol
a babies hands on my knees
a shower in an old bath
a silent prayer by the clothesline
all reminders
i have known
more wealth than Solomon
in this
cathedral of holiness
that is
home