The Annual Clergy Gathering

We inscribe the circles
Of our loneliness
With words collected
Over the years like
Souvenirs from places
We have visited briefly

The walls of isolation
Thicken until
Well ensconced within
Our certainty we feel
Completely cut off
Exiled from our
Home land and temple

Around the table of
Our fellowship we
Bump up against
Each other like
Children's marbles whose
Beauty lies encased within

Then at the last there
Is a remembering when

Like a smiling child
Playing with bubbles
The Breath blows gently
And walls now glistening
Thin ascend into the
Sky before bursting into oneness

Or like when the Old Man
With wise calloused hands
Forms a hole in the soil
Sighs a prayer and lowers
The bulb into the ground of being
To await the flowering spring  

Comments

[Becca]

Particularly beautiful and inspiring.