This too is worship:
—on rise of earth and scattered rock
and gentle roll of pastured hillock,
verdant soldiers bent by breath
uncurl, and stand erect to gaze
upon their milky-headed sisters
wrapped in covenantal cluster;
iridescence dancing to the song
of all creation singing praise.
This afternoon as I explored a field near my home,
I passed an ancient, shivering barn
protected by a rigid prohibition:
“Unsafe—Do Not Enter.”
(guarding its mysteries from my contraband feet)
A swift and sudden dart gave no warning when
it shot across my path:
a barn swallow, aiming toward an unsuspecting bullseye.
So fierce and instantaneous she was; if I possessed
such savage, sudden reflexes,
I could easily have reached out and stroked her underbelly.
She seemed as surprised to encounter me
as I was delighted to see her.
I said “Well, hi!”
but she, startled, pirouetted in a sumptuous swirl—
a nimble rearrangement of wings and twist of feathers—
and plunged back to the dark safety of timbers and hay:
a place safe for birds, not humans.
Chance discoveries often are this way:
unexpected, unrehearsed, unaccountable;
concealed from our constricting comprehensions.
I like that.
“I would have all of thee.”
Yes. You would have all of me
in fiery love;
You would possess me.
Your candescent beauty would enflame me,
ignite my yielding; my flickering
passion fanned by holy wind
and upward dancing,
met by enkindling mercy:
breath to breath with Desire eternal.
Consumed, I am not destroyed.
Embraced, I long for more,
and I know that You will ravish me;
astray from beauty’s pasture green,
lain thirsty by defiled streams;
dulled to glories yet unseen—
will rest, forever purified, in Thee.
Faith flowers–nourished by hope–
though planted in simmering
stygian primal toxin.
Sepals and stamen strain to the quickening brilliance
tendril fingers claw in poisoned stew.
Still, brilliant petals emerge and hope dances:
swirling, twirling, spinning with
delirious giddy laughter
scorning the vampire mask of tribulation’s terror.
Blossoms watered by liquid crimson,
the ablutionary flood
shining and sparkling, ablaze
with flaming fragrant oil.
Hovering white feathered mercy dances too,
plumage fanning sudden fire and power;
winged tongues wielding weapons of rapture;
cauterizing, comforting spirit.
And great pinons enfold the cosmos:
garrison for the palm-graven, the grafted.
The greatest is love.