‘Til spring                                                                                        

I thought wine was the gift, so I complained

when the intoxication wore off.

Now I find seedlings of Your mercy

scattered everywhere –

roses along the spine, their scent,

years later, reaching my nostrils

and the still, quiet pool beneath my ribs,

the grassy meadows, the web of rills.

I’d packed for a long journey.  You motioned

for me to set down my bags

and share one last cup. 

Becoming inconsolable, drunk and unruly,

the taxi left without me.

You led me back inside.

There’s a garden in my chest

and You’ve invited me to stick around ‘til spring.

O child of God, whatever the Beloved has planned for you,

be sure it’s nothing like what you imagine.

                           (from A Jewel in the Dust)