Moondust

Moondust                                                                                                  
 
I can make out the lunar mares –
the Sea of Tranquility just there, composed
 
of moondust rather than saltwater,
human bootprints now in the blue-gray tint
 
of its basaltic soil.  There’s a sea also inside of me 
made of the bitter, accumulated dust
 
of my past lives, which Maya may arouse
at any possible moment into a blinding storm,
 
dust borne on its almost irresistible winds –
the cause of my straying off course
 
from His (and even my own) will.
But with faith and His grace
 
of patience and insight, I might instead
let it gather and lie at the bottom of my heart,
 
tranquilly undisturbed, enough for my bootprints
to spell out legibly my Redeemer’s holy name.
 
O child of God, seek the mighty hand
of the One who hung the moon.