Oh, that I might ever know
Your Presence in every face
Your Pulse in every heart;
That I might ever feel
Your Breath in every breeze
Your Touch in each rain drop;
That I might ever see
Your Smile in every bloom
Your Might in each sunrise.
And, oh, please grant
That I might view
Life's beauty through
Your Eyes.
The Beloved listens
as I dovetail words
into walls
and walk in winter landscapes.
None of the alien, snowbanked roads
lead home. Even as I speak,
the shadows shift
across the stones
I have tried
to mortar into place.
The beloved listens
and weaves willow silences
into my words.
The quietness of Love
builds me a better harbor
than words ever could,
a place from which to sail,
a place to remember
on the map I navigate by,
where the heart of the compass rose is home.