Jesus went into the wilderness
to fast and to pray.
Do we pray our own wilderness
to a different father?
And breathe it in like oxygen
and breathe it out like garlic?
Idle words high as the himalayas,
hurtful words pricking hearts
like desert thorns.
Hard, hard stones!
Stinging, stinging hail!
Cyclopes cyclones with one opinion,
one blind eye and world view.
Do we make monsters there?
Silhouetted wolves
feeding on blood red moons.
Prehistoric bears
and saber toothed tigers.
Do we make up stories
to scare our young?
I believe
we can dream own heaven though.
Rest our own treasured spirits there
just like Jesus did.
Wilderness can be wild with wonder
and beauty to.
A nightingale
I hear, I hear!
A coltish fawn,
I see, I see!
Sometimes,
reading a happy ending,
sometimes
in a child's laughter or smile,
sometimes
in the beginning music of a fugue,
I become a simile of the man
who can pray and walk so pure.
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