I was standing in the damp, cramped
Underground room at Philippi, said to have been
Where Paul was cast after many stripes were laid upon him.
A small finger-smudged icon and footworn step
Broke the foreboding flatness of four uneven crumbling clay walls
And, standing in the damp, cramped
Underground at Philippi,
Picturing Paul thrust there, his feet fast in the stocks,
I prayed aspiringly: God, make the singing of my soul
Break prison bands for others, at midnight, and in every hour!
Leaving the damp, cramped
Underground at Philippi,
I stood in Paul's bright sun,
Expecting Love's eternal promise of its unshackled likeness—
Knowing Spirit's joy could sing its song through me.
