
Perhaps our
Deepest
Prayers are simply never
Asked –
Yet traced in the faith of
Offered flesh and
Willing touch.
And our response the only
Answer that we need.
There is an
Edge –
Only in our thoughts of
Separation.
Winds blow
Unseen –
Yet every leaf knows the
Taste of their caress.
I doubt not your touch.
No escape.
Life drowns us in its ten
Thousand waves.
Only the infinite remains
Dry.
Rain,
And in between the coming
Drops and hallowed
Ground we are
Asked –
Simply to receive.
maybe I'll regret
this -
these words that tumble unwanted from my
lips in a rush to meet you.
yet maybe still our silence is its
own regret.
and only later do we weep soundless at
our present being.
it seems there's always a maybe at the
end of every moment.
this then is ours…our moment, our question,
our answer.
this is at once our ending and our
hope for a new beginning.
maybe –
this is all we need.
maybe I'll regret
this -
these words that tumble unwanted from my
lips in a rush to meet you.
yet maybe still our silence is its
own regret.
and only later do we weep soundless at
our present being.
it seems there's always a maybe at the
end of every moment.
At once…a history traced
Against me –
And a moment passed in
Letting go.
Your hand…and instrument of
My now.
Thoughts passing.
Stillness lies
Beneath.
Here…there is holiness.
From the source…nothing
But what is –
From the source.
And only this is so.