If I peer
through the window from my sleepless back
and think far into the sky I
fear the sheer depth of space.
So in daylight I steer clear,
dwell here where the roof is low
and the world is small.
Space is severe, and well causes
men to revere God.
Don’t miss those few quiet words in Genesis,
“he also made the stars”: he also made
those raging storms of nuclear fire
yellow as a feather from a falling weaver
bright bursts of power and light larger than the giant’s giant,
filling the galaxies to more powers over,
with billions in the arsenal.
And thick dark matter we
name without grasping
living suspended as the stars
deep in the knowledge of the Son of God.
O glorious, inconvenient sky,
your vast expanse demands
no small part of me.
Often I begin a poem that doesn’t get further than free writing, initial thoughts, or a few lines. Even so, the expressions and ideas are still worth sharing. The text below is from a poem that felt too skeletal and wasn’t working, so I removed the line breaks, edited a little, and made it into this short flowing thought.
You find yourself upon a rock, your sea legs countering waves which are not there. You are shaken, on unshakable ground. The sea rocks you, for the rock will not move; it is steadfast, unyielding. Your legs anticipate lurches which do not come. Though the waves knock on, they meet an Absolute, upon which you stand not drifting tumbling relative. What definite stance, desperate hands, slick feet held fast. Comfort, home, unexpected, sickening, Dizzy you cling. Waves would drag you, calling “Come back”. But the waves are no longer inside you.