in the stillness
we wait (and hope)
our lives might make sense
and wait (and find)
they do
Engaging the Life of the Soul
in the stillness
we wait (and hope)
our lives might make sense
and wait (and find)
they do
as simplicity gains on us—has its way
the road ahead tapers to a line,
a track a scent
and we become adept at living
another way
occupy the space you have today, set aside
the space God gives you, bids you take
and shut the door, turn off the lights, ignore
the intruding voice of all you lack, must have
for one whole day believe—in this time and place—
you have all you need, say it loud enough to hear
in a day defined by lack: without verbs take it back
Canyon whispers run through a solitary walk
along the river leading away from Banff townsite
here, in the middle of June
I am not (like them) made of stone
I do not live like one of these trees
I am more than the breath of wind—
closer (I am) to water bordering light
flashing past all one can see, or know…
I admit, now and then,
to letting disappointment glisten
like dew on my temples
over “the one that got away”
—a web of singular drops of water
reveal complex attempts to secure a meal
the instinct of a spider betrayed—
a famished, unrepentant creature,
I hold no loss too small to regret.