If I am lost in the blowing grasses,
If I wander from the path,
I am in your hands, time.
And in them there is a stillness,
Where light becomes animate,
Like little lost pieces of a former self.
Where bones fall and whiten.
Where palm-sized animals go to burrow
In the darkness of the black, living earth.
Where stones rise speckled with bright
And ancient lichens,
Drifting from rock island to rock island
Where roots cling and flowers find purchase,
Each tiny paradise and enclave,
A world unto itself,
A land that I discover,
Lost in time and seen by no one as I see it,
I make it mine by this act of my loving,
I enter into the folds of time and
For awhile I do surrender,
Finally letting go,
The meaning of faith.