The Eclipse

Lord, let me sit with you
    Now in the time of doubt,
    When confusion paints the horizon,
    And springs stop up with absence. 

Lord, let me sit with you
    In the quiet of this room,
    As light spills in through leaves,
    And every second screams, “presence!”

    (But quietly, in silence, as you always speak)

Lord, let me sit with you
    In these two moments,
    Self-same, one over the other,
    Eclipsed; I sit in the umbra, penumbra. 

    (But the Trinity is still dancing in the corona)



the dragonfly’s wings
black, white, and pale pink — dancing.
now caught in dry webs

Amicalola, June 23rd

I drove up here to find You.
Instead, I saw myself, broken and scattered,
Fragmented and cascading down.

But every waterfall, rapid-filled,
Stone-cut and turbulent,
Eventually narrows,
And joins itself again.

And there in the calm reflection
Of the still pool at the end of the stream,
The surface of the water is kissed by the air —
Unaware that, a mile previous, it was in its midst, dancing:
Living, and moving, and having its being.

The Long Hours of Non-Meeting

We hold on to numerous little things:

The final meetings, the brightness of the eyes,
The tightness of a hug, the “I miss you. A lot.”
The smiles, jokes, lightness of the voice, and
Tears on cheeks after laying our hearts bare —

And a multitude of other little intimacies.

Yet we can never really know
What thoughts run the course during the long hours of non-meeting;
If she looks up at a sky she wishes you could see,
Or walks with you in her mind through the spired streets of Oxford.


(Mark 2:1-5, Psalm 54)

The flood surges,
        washes, breaks upon
The stone centered
        in the stream.

All the violent raging
        pours against it,
And it takes it all –
        Absorbs it all.

It loves it all –
       loves it all!
And against the permanence
       of such love,

       (after the event)
The waters are living and still.
       At peace, and still.