In such seeming eve of winter
This prophetic promise
The color will come back
Must the sun stay shallow
No!
Nor the green-gold, buried
Hearken days when cold, cold steel had not stolen light
Lift your eyes
Stride bold, through “til end of night
Original Inspiration Credit:
Psalm 121
1 I lift my eyes unto the hills, where does my help come from?
2 My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.
3 He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: He that keepeth thee will not slumber.
4 Behold, He that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.
5 The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand.
6 The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.
7 The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: He shall preserve thy soul.
8 The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.
The western sky, brooding
Way over there, watching dawn become done
Has come to understand despite its expanse
I, in the east, looming
May be much too much this morning
Heat and light
We share Little in common
The Monk and Me
Soft, furtive early risers
Though grounded, I, facing West,
Facing East, He
And dining together, I linger
Dashes, He
Little Green Space we share, we
We’ll sit together, child
Should God give us time
To ask the Eastern light,
“Where have you been all these hours?”
To watch the Western sky
Blush on its behalf
We’ll struggle no more, child
Please God, give us time
With the why of why not
About the words we can’t use
‘less they begin and end
With the loveliest shade of love