There is a place past walls. Though I have barely touched it, still it awaits me. To bathe in the love of God ... past longing, past war, alone in infinite space. A wind of light through what once I called my self, behind, suspending the self in it, rendering what I was transparent until all I am is that through which God's love unfolds, through which God's will be done.
Nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness
in deep down things;
And though the last
lights off the
black West went
Oh, morning,
at the brown brink
eastward, springs . . .
Because the Holy Ghost
over the bent
world broods
with warm breast
and with ah!
bright wings.