Wrens and sparrows

Wrens and sparrows                                                                       

I write my poetry on a crust of bread

I found in the bottom of my pouch,

dropping crumbs along the path

for the wrens and sparrows.

I won’t be coming back

this way and no one will follow

into this particular plot of trees.

The woods are deep.  I’ll write

as long as the light holds out.

God illumines the path

only one step at a time

and my own torch has been thrown down.

It’s like a crust of bread –

the moon above the horizon.

My mortal existence is a crust of bread.

This poem is dedicated

to the wrens and sparrows.

I wish I had more to give.

O child of God, venture where there is blitheness    

in dissolution; unalloyed bliss in obliteration.