
I felt you in the crisp morning light
And your hand on mine the night Oli died
And you stirred all the oceans within
when everything else ran dry
And I see it in the stars, and in the webs the spiders weave,
the worlds that the artist’s brush conceive
and the songs that raise the hairs from my skin
when the heart has succumbed to the mind
The poets always described you better than the priest,
the man of nature knew your patterns better than he
Yet they still speak your name and describe your ways,
giving words to the mysteries that will always remain
and pretending to know your divine will
imagining they’d understand the ineffable
The sun rose on me again,
and 34 years in the awe still remains
I thank God and yet beyond a name,
you’re still a stranger to me in the dark
But the goldfinches were on the thistles in this morning mist,
and I wondered what I’d done to deserve all this,
as Dolores slept upon my chest
I found Eden in those trusting arms
So if I’m Cain’s son and the descendent of sin
and the serpent still lives just beneath my skin
then why do you bless me with such crushing bliss,
when I present you my meagre yield
I tried to find you in the holy scriptures and books
but found only signposts and half-heard whispered words
but you were there as a still, small voice
amongst the blessed branches of pine
And you were there when hope fell from my eye
and there when suffering filled my mind
and you lifted the veil just long enough
to bring light to a darkened sky
To a God unknown, I feel your grace
in the forests and in my daughter’s face,
and I sacrifice and carry my weight in the hope that I’ve earned my part
So I tread on your soil with a softness of touch
and try to add only kindness and love,
hoping that although not much,
my presence brought more grace than pain
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