A dust-shape drifting through drifts of snow
down a worn path to temporary shelter.
Escape by plunging into life –
this is the practice given to me.
Not fanciful ideas of life –
a barbed fence at the property’s edge,
but walking out onto the lake, the ice thinner
the farther I get from shore,
as I glide and slip into next-to-nothing
in this floating world timeless and invulnerable.
When I break through at last,
they tell me, suddenly,
I will become nothing and everything
at the same propitious moment but right now
the excursion is simply everything, nothing
and enough; more than enough.
O child of God, who is there to hear you
above the wind’s icy roar?
Really nice, Brian. Especially "above the wind's icy roar." Keep goin' man.ReplyDelete
You got it, man,ReplyDelete