Morning Meditation
I taste the flowing honey of the sun's own youth,
the water of light pouring down on thirsty leaves.
I have sipped Aurora's dew; it nourished and refreshed.
A Saturday Morning Walk
Saturday I wandered far,
seeking here and there,
exploring newer places,
questing for I knew not what
in the morning promise of rain.
A good woman gave me two peaches,
omens of peace and immortality;
they were sticky in my hands,
the juice running freely,
rich with the sweetness,
the hope, that all fruit carry,
the hint of richness preserved
for the seed and for our taste.
The night before had been dark,
sheltered from moon and star,
or so my dreams had said.
But the darkness was a rolling darkness,
a seminary of life and hope,
like the darkness of the earth
feeding the growing root.
My memory held this all;
my thoughts looked out on the world,
seeing that it was good;
and my will hoped for glory
in the rising of the sun.
In such moments we are God-like,
more than dust in the desert,
more than words writ on water;
on such mornings we live,
and our life is a vibrant emblem,
a whisper sent down from heaven,
creation's word engraved with letters.
