Saturday, January 24, 2015



Back in the saddle again.
Astride one of those nimble burros

wending in and out of the canyon,
toting the miner to his claim.

I huddle near the campfire, trying to plumb
the night sky with a 6' 2" pole.

In the body, You were small in stature
yet, powerful, they say.  I believe them.

I've wrestled with You for thirty years
and have not won a single match.

I delve deeper into the shaft
with a lantern, pick and shovel.

Yet, I'll never come close
to anywhere near the core.

The silver is in the stars,
You say, mutely pointing.

You must burn white-hot
in the black empty;

burn the dross away
with your own innate source of fuel.

O child of God, stand mute and helpless
before the forces of which you have no conception.

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