“… Hide me in the shadow of your wings.” ~ Psalm 17:8
We wake when the light has touched
the window-blinds, or to the sound
of wheels skimming early across asphalt.
And it is as though another day opens,
one door among many in passageways so long,
even the industry of carpenter ants might
falter. It is so hard to heft a pannier
of provisions from one gallery
to the next— But sometimes I think
I glimpse a familiar figure up ahead, robed
in saffron: gesturing Get up, shoulder
the load; keep pace, keep moving along.
Time teaches a lighter tread: or
the body bound to gravity must shed
layer after layer. What progress is tracked,
comes only in the manner of what’s discarded:
powdery frass, fine shavings of wood
highlighting paths we’ve tunneled.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.