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I was not like that child, the sullen one,
who stumbled in a trackless wilderness
until the cold, swift, sweet and tickling fall
of darkness that immersed one flailing hand
(as fingers spelled upon her other palm)
was born again as water.

I navigated treacheries of text --
icebergs of consonants, and vortex vowels --
and wrecked upon the high, white margin, lost,
with little salvaged -- Christ, redemption, love,
forgiveness, grace -- a pile of polished stones
that rattled when I shook them in my hand
and hurt my famished teeth. What good are these,
too few for S.O.S., or for a hut,
inedible and unredeemable
for cash or credit ? I should throw them back !

But cold, swift, sweet, indelible water
had washed me once, once and for All, for Good.
And now it flooded back, unspelled from stone,
to work its miracle of silent dark,
of fragrance, movement, savor and caress,
and drown me in the trackless sea of God.


12.22.07 Winter Solstice