A Poem for the Turning of a Year

How I wander through these 

days, stranger to my own making;

treading on thin spaces, and 

the cracks expand across 

the distance to where You live.

A wind blows and it whispers

Only words of you. A crow 

settles in the trees Outside 

the window and calls

Your name.

You call us, and we hunger. 

You fill us, yet we cannot 

get enough of You.

You, there beside us 

in our kneeling prayer,

claiming us and yet ascending

in Your loving higher

until we are compelled 

to bow 

and love You so our hearts 

may burst 

while knowing we are Yours

and shall be in Your life

and life is Real and sharp

among our ribs.

I watched the crow for days

before I caught the secret

of your love affair

before I saw he only glanced

towards where You stood

rejoicing in his ebony creation.

And I knew my heart 

would burn again

towards You

I knew that I would 

wander, and return

again, 

              would

offer up this world

again 

            and over again

and always it would be

to You.

You will be the song I hum

in the dark, forgetting

Who it is I sing of

You will be the One 

watching, giving 

planting, birthing

                                always

a lopsided love affair

delighting in the 

slow ripening

of my resurrection

calling my name

in the wind 

and the wilding sky.

I began this poem on my 30th birthday this year, and finished it while in Assisi several months later. Since then I’ve returned to it often as a touchstone, a reorientation point, and I felt it would be appropriate to share now as we pass ”the still point of the turning world” (T.S. Eliot) and head into a new year.

May it be a year of journeys, and a year of returnings. May it be a year your soul ripens and expands into new and beautiful wings.

Happy New Year, friends.

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