If I am lost in the blowing grasses,

If I wander from the path,

I am in your hands, time.

And in them there is a stillness,

Where light becomes animate,

And tactile,

Like little lost pieces of a former self.

Where bones fall and whiten.

Where palm-sized animals go to burrow

In the darkness of the black, living earth.

Where stones rise speckled with bright

And ancient lichens,

Drifting from rock island to rock island

Where roots cling and flowers find purchase,

Each tiny paradise and enclave,

A world unto itself,

A land that I discover,

Lost in time and seen by no one as I see it,

I make it mine by this act of my loving,

I enter into the folds of time and

For awhile I do surrender,

Finally letting go,

And learning,

The meaning of faith.