Friday, October 25, 2019
In the molecule of a minute so much
is impossible to believe something
so little is so full, whole, holy.
It's a natural progression from
full to whole to holy for me
the fullness of time a sure sign of divinity.
Which by its nature, presence demands,
commands all logic to be dropped,
metaphor picked up and the flame of the heart lit,
the burning tongues of Pentecost
must be where they belong --
the inner regions where song is made
and dance is danced and water turned
to wine every day and resurrections
occurring even as we speak.
In the molecule of the moment
all this and -- yes, of course love --
is occurring. No wonder we need
bread and wine to sustain
us in the presence of one another
where we can be who we are.
I am a beggar in this world; everything I have has been given to me. My bowl is always daily empty: I receive ...
The lowest limb on the closest maple has just been led by the wind into a graceful dip so subtle, so qui...
Photograph by Greg Clary 2020
I will never not listen Your voice like streets Of the sea teeming Turned over, trembling and Tumultuous Sometimes you’re too l...