Poverty of the Pilgrim
The ocean lifts its skirts to follow the moon and across the inland sea a great wave of water empties. Running like a river toward
July 30, 2017
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The ocean lifts its skirts to follow the moon and across the inland sea a great wave of water empties. Running like a river toward
I wake up with the world, climbing out of the dream into the freshening wind. The tide is already rushing, seabirds busy on the rocks,
Avoiding the mass, afflicted by crowds, isolate and internal I circle the beloved, an orbiting satellite without friction or gravity in the silence of space,
Wind drives up from the south against the ebbing tide, the surface chalked with waves. I look out from the cabin until the hour comes
Hollow as a reed, empty of the hoard, wealth of silence, rock of faith. Live this life with thirst, scraped bare for the rising.