The ivy lodges on the tree,
the spring rains nourish it.
where lovers meet,
I thought I saw you,
elegant beneath the clouds.
Your memory clings like vine
to my mind's bough.
The world is a deep sea;
waves of air above me do flow.
Beneath deep space they go,
which is a sea, I know, of light
through which the stars swim at night.
To the ends of our sight we see,
out and out, only sea.
The air is hot and dry,
obscured by storms of dust.
Unending realms of sand
parch with fatal thirst.
Yet even on this desert planet
water can be found:
dew in secret places,
springs in sacred places,
pools by wind-worn rocks.
This desert was a beach;
mist was in the air.
Great waves of philosophy
broke against the shore.
God came to me, rebuked me for my life of sin
and showed to me a way in which we both could win;
I heard His offer out, but in the summit of my pride
I chose to win alone. God I crucified.
I hanged Him on the tree, and on the tree He died.
But God does not just die; He rises to live again,
and soon returns, rebuking me for my life of sin.
Frustrated with His returning, that He does not simply die,
I choose myself again, and Him I crucify.
I hang Him on the tree again; on the tree He dies.
He returns and comes again, each time so vital, bold,
that I can only crucify by growing yet more cold.
Where our ending finds us is where we did begin;
we either taste the grace of glory or crucify with sin,
crucify forever or someday just give in.