Poem: Outstretched Hand

There is space in the economy of heaven
And yet he extends me to below the sky.
My land lies flat, like an outstretched hand.
Its small rising hills stretch out in fingers
From a palm of expansive dark water.
Where shall I walk in his valley of peace?

Barely the whisper of evening air stirs
The amber leaves along the glowing bank.
I stand beside the glassy shore and listen
To the murmur of silken water lapping
The handsome edges of round granite
Ground smooth ages ago by millennial ice.

There is a quiet hand reaching from the sky.
I search for the subtle point where mauve
And coral pinks became their own reflection.
Simple souls who stray beyond the shore
May not see the melding of the water’s line.
When shall I find the moment of his release?

Far on horizon, blazing edges of steely clouds
Pour molten light into the earth at a distance
Known only to lands not shrouded in dusk.
I think of his hand, outstretched and reaching
For those solid lines of light, not realizing
Why familiar faces reflect upon the wall.

There, in the misty-eyed surface of sky or water
Or faith, I dream of him, leaving the warm bed
And greeting the embrace of generations suddenly
Remembered, like green-mirrored reflections of
Sunrise, clasped upon the alters of templed hills.
Oh Father, how shall I not praise such increase?


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