Behind these desert hills, whipping trees I cannot see.
Unseen spirit, distant grace, which tears will you
Loosen from my heavy eyes, from my shame,
When you come round to me, make haste for me?
Out there, o wind, you are wrapped like a song
In a language whose words I may never know;
Even now, this night, reviving other dreamers
Whose hearts bleed, whose shame cuts deep.
My eyes sting, my lips are dry, but I choose
To believe, because this kind faith is chosen,
My choice, right now, my destiny, my hope.
I choose to believe that the wind on their faces
(The migrant, the refugee, Moses, Miriam, Juanita)
Is the very same breath, the very same holy breath
That will kiss me and welcome me home.
4 December 2018
DGJ
Paradise Valley, AZ
 |
| "St Claire" Mural, Franciscan Renewal Center, Paradise Valley |
