The Light and the Challenge

In the blazing heat
the trees and grasses golden;
they are candleflame and firelight.

In the shimmering cold
the frogs and crickets amplify;
they are thunderclap and echo.

In the winding cave
the dripstone spikes lengthen
into mountain and valley

where the heat blinds and the cold paralyzes,
the climb and the cliff wear and scatter,
abandonment and fright surround;

I can not see, and yet I know
the living light that radiates within,
illuminates the cracks and begs me to begin.

“Any man who follows me will not be walking in the dark: he will have the light of life, says the Lord.” (John 8:12; Universalis)

Living Miracles

These miracles, so bright I cover my eyes;
they bound, glide, skip before me and beside.

She rides his old training bike with eyes halfway closed;
he jukes and zags in front as she laughs from her toes,

and the little girl plays “touch each stone” along the way;
then it’s “touch the shoulder” when she finds me out of place.

Baby boy plays at cars, trucks, and tractors,
making their noise, making laughter.

The air moves and settles differently tonight;
it is the autumn coming, the new slant of light.

Ah, this wind, sweet-covered in leaf and seed-pod;
these miracles, rain-bursts of exhausting love.

They are four together and apart
sparkling each with their own purpose, their hearts

beating sorrowful now and again, though joy comes down with storms,
growing hurts, but this light hurts more.