It is the morning before time

When there is neither sea nor sky

But one space, and men in their

Fragile boats touching both,

To reap by hand or simple net

What God does not need to give,

For all is always within reach.

 

Not a shadow of mountain,

Only the littlest ripple of sound,

Touches this thin film of space

Tremulous at the edge of time,

As only sun or cloud will mar its face,

Or rain dimple the ghost of water,

And all the world is revealed.

 

Something in the rare hour

When light, air, and water conspire

To become one, as if indivisible,

And thus invisible, reminds us

When we were perhaps still

In the mind of God, a seed

Of quiet waiting to be uttered.

 

 

October 19, 2007

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