Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Cherokee Creek, Late Summer

After the Pink House, a ragged tangle
of pasture, then green water
sleeks glossy mossed bottom
and pecan trees green weltering space.

Water murmurs its name
which is the sound of God
and thirsty earth turns,
full-blooded, to receive it.

Everything desires immersion,
God's tendrilling finger
touching center, drenching
long drops, and light.

This, in the Country of the Pink House,
is referred to as grace.

No comments:

Post a Comment