Poem: "Prospect Hill"

Prospect Hill Cemetery, NE DC

Sun falls, waves of gold, among these stones, 
Green fields bright with satisfying grace.
Wisdom meets me at the path
Where a snapped branch blocks the way.
I step around it, onto the soft grassy earth,
And this is the needed thing, to wander
Off the sensible path, to feel
The planet tender, the gentle hands of God.

Resting here, I close my eyes to wait
On spirit, on the singing of birds, on an ambulance
Rushing up the busy city avenue, to serve, to help.
Kyrie eleison.  Christe eleison.  Kyrie eleison.
Among these many names, and broken stones,
In a field of memories, paths perfectly unkept,
I am yours, O Wisdom, O Grace, O Christ,
And all my tears and hopes pool gladly in your hand.

DGJ
10.22.18