Rest your branches on me, my love, While the wind blows and storm enshrouds. Lean your limbs upon me when lightning flashes And teardrop rain falls down. Let us lean, bend, and sway together Among the pressed-down pathways Round our roots. Leave your mark on me and let us tend our trunks in wide-ringed ways, …
Hidden Streams: a fragment
Hidden streams wind their way, unseen by any eye as they work their wonders. Water melts and joins the flow as currents collect the melt in curving arms and carry it away to roaring rivers, heaving lakes and raging oceans. Do they know - do they care - what they create? Yet still they flow.
Sunshine dust motes: a poem prayer
Breeze blows dust, dangling decayed life - Not quite alive but still vibrant - in Surrounding sun streams. May my dull, decaying life also Regain vitality - lingering In Your light - Refracting life In variegated glory.
Christ Speaks in Stories
This from Christian Wiman in his moving book My Bright Abyss: Meditation of a Modern Believer. Christ speaks in stories as a way of preparing his followers to stake their lives on a story, because existence is not a puzzle to be solved, but a narrative to be inherited and undergone and transformed person by person. …
Rerouted Trail (a poem)
The trail traipses past the gaping gorge, Re-routed and well-marked with guiding signs. Yet the old, well-worn way is still etched and evident, Beckoning passersby, And will be for years.
Matthew Erickson 