Across the heaven
a line of light
opens the day,
while another
marks the night.
Beneath the skies
we sleep then wake,
alive to the morning.

The voice of God
rises tender and sweet,
a green sprout of corn
to comfort us,
while seeds of the eternal
take moisture from the well within,
and a spark of life
struck on the old stone of faith
fires the miracle
of our deepest dreams.

 

photograph by Patrick Orleman

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

11 Responses

  1. This poem, like so many of your creations, touched me deeply…thank you for continually reminding me/us of what is true.

  2. The starting line of each morning, and of my life, necessitates spiritual activation. The ending line of dusk, and of my life well lived, properly requires I carefully fold the aspects of my day, and my life, with pride of having served well. Thank you, Don.

  3. Very evocative. I’m down under currently and watch first light each morning. Great stuff.

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