Saturday, June 5, 2010

A Storm

A spreading wide of holy fingers,
A reaching up to rushing air:
Ruh is peace, and Ruh is breath,
And Ruh is wind and spirit.

Peace blows through the treetops,
And I stand, drinking in the
Springtime spirit. Wind goes in
And out of lips, and the breath

Of God is on the waters.

Summer

I am the death of poets,
I am the grave of meter
And rhyme. I have become
What all have looked for.
I am shadows on the sun.