Amid the man-made roar, the birds of morning fill their space with song. Freeways, alleyways, door by door, no higher calling than their love. No futile wish to say I wish that man and noise were gone, no needless judgment made. And here I am, O Lord, with solemn child’s face, in sacred grace, to sing along. Here I am, to help you home, to be the timely end of war, and ease you from the cross at dawn. It is never easy, being God in a man’s body looking on, such an old, strange job. But when I see you as a bird, the color of your word is light upon my palm. And when you find me kneeling in the street, with no one looking on, you will know I’m not alone. For the world is full, with not one thing out of place, and all bright space is full of song!