The vast encompassing
Long to see Me as I really am.
Which might mean in time between
not seeing Him as He seems to be;
perhaps, not at all; losing sight
and track, upended, at sea;
toppled fortresses, uprooted trees;
eschewing the accustomed
comforts and shelters, clefts in the rock;
the Companion constant but chameleonic,
yet doggedly held onto
in rehearsal for the bleeding,
the blessing, the blending at last
of God (in our eyes)
with the illusion of the temporal,
prior to the ultimate stretching,
the vast encompassing
of the eternal infinite.
O child of God, why worry about the inevitable?
Unless, perhaps, impatience is a fated prod.