You

Plantain Lily

You whisper,
e’en lighter than a
desert vesper.
You bleat in the meekest
voice, Your chords
in the sheepfold
mercifully ne’er hoarse.
You disperse the
sand eddies swirling in my
soul, and in dry
crags and hollows,
I learn my loneliness is
not alone.

Asking the LORD

May my prayer
appear before You as sweetest
incense, its wisps of hope
curling and cleansing
like perfume scented with
daydreams of desert
streams. May my soul be
wrapped within the refuge of
Your wings, clothed in
the hues of a sage oasis,
content like an infant
from its mother newly
weaned.

John 20:29

(“How Happy Are Those Who Believe Without Seeing Me!”)

And so tonight the dark
rolls over me, and my soul sighs,
and I let the effects
settle and stay upon me,
because there is
naught to do otherwise,
except to watch as
do sentinels for daybreak,^*
when God’s face over
my doubt rises.

Tabernacle Sanctuary Lamp

You are alive, you flutter,
your flicker’s dance speaks in a
language of no other.
What moves your flame?
It appears some vesper is alighting
your wick like a dove
from the treetops of heaven.
There is no darkness
which surpasses
your red glow. There is
no dictionary to describe the
incomprehensible
meaning of your hope.

Winter

Winter Prayer

O Lord, please close the
eyes and ears of my soul to mammon’s
every whisper and murmur.
How can I mirror Your perfect image
and likeness, if behind
my own rolled stone lies my
flesh as master?

Winter Writing

And thus, I return to my
writing, after a hiatus in autumn
lasting into winter, a soul
appearing adrift amongst the lost…
but maybe never far gone,
but rather more like Saint Paul –
restored at cold night to my
bridled, waiting horse.