Drifting Along

As we drift
Along the surface
Of the LIGHT of this present world

We are but
Infinitesimal specks
Gathering dust
To ourselves
As if gold.
Not half as glorious
As we had hoped and
Yet grander then
The simple strands
Our prayers and
Groans would betray.

We rise
Like incense
And are gone -
Only a faint aroma
Of sweetness and
Beauty lingers on the
Boundlessness on the
Trails of time
And space - the rest
Is just the afterburn
Of the resin
On the coals.

And the LIGHT
Goes on, and on
Burning so bright
As to appear as utter darkness.

Bounded rapture of the full
Surround; a blind man
Wrapped in what he
Cannot see,
A wiseman standing
Amid that which he
Cannot understand.

Only warmth.

Beeswax Candles at Vespers

A brokenness in my body
at the end of the day
weakly calls to weakness
asking for a silent peace
to attend my way.

O God make speed
to save,
O LORD make haste
to help us.

Incense rises
on some altar
daises in the
islands of
Greece,
on the Holy Mountain,
and at Sinai.

I hear the crackle
of the candle flame, slowly
hissing as it burns
the beeswax up and
through the wick.

As wax melts from
the fire, may those
who hate THEE flee from
before Your throne.

Words rise up,
all over the world,
as day comes to rest
in the evening
vesperal light.

O Gladsome Light,
sing on from the
fourth century,
call our hearts
in the groan that is a
chant and a cry.

Now lettest
Thou Thy servant
depart in peace,
according
to THY word.

TJM+