Pathways

Providence once was a highway, paved;
well marked by signs
and arrows to give
direction.

It became at length a winding road
through a meadow flowered;
the moments bright but
destinations unknown.

Yesterday it was rocky path
to a mountain’s peak
that bled my feet
as You led by the way.

Did these paths lead to a cliff?
A dead end of sorts
that bids me:
“Trust, child; faith,
And leap!”

Wool and Flax

Two strands we were: one wool, one flax,
mismatched but woven, entwined,
one thread.
Fibers twisted together by providence,
one small patch forming
on the Maker’s tapestry.  Who knows
where threads may lead
or what delicate patterns He may design?
Though strands divide and loop apart,
decorations prepared for plans unknown,
might they join once more?
His hands weave to and fro
and work our loom
of yesterday and today.
Tomorrow, perhaps, we converge again
if we cut not the thread with a knife
of “farewell.”

John and Abigail

With a wife like Abigail . . . no wonder John Adams was such a great man.

And They Danced

Your muse to my muse did beckon: come with me!
Let us dance a dance of friends. And yet our hearts
and hands but barely touched—we poised to flee
this timid waltz that moves in fits and starts.
Watching as you watch, your eyes betraying nothing,
but a glance, a glimmer, the briefest sparkles of twilight
that catch and flare beneath dark lashes, sweeping
‘cross graceful cheeks, sharp in my breast ignite
embers smoldering low, long scarcely warm.
I thought my heart had broken, but this rift
was a chamber shaped to fit your spirit’s form;
one step, contra step, and close at last we’ll drift,
fearful of rising hope as arms embrace
life offered anew, and yesterday’s erase.