Retreat Poem 2
Written after a spiritual direction session
I do not trust you, and yet I know I do.
When life blew soft among my limbs,
My trust in you was most(ly) true.
For long I believed, I assumed, I knew
Life would yield a slow thickening of my branch,
Gentle sap pushing new buds into view.
But now I see by a sunrise long overdue,
That worms or rot or fungus licked by root,
Has grown my trunk brittle and askew.
Now what to do? Now what to do?
The best I can offer as I sit upon this pew,
Is to tell it to you straight,
Even if my words be blue.
And to call the Dove anew
To roost among my browning leaves
And sing me back to you.
Yes, sing me back to you.
I do not trust you, and yet I know I do.
When life blew soft among my limbs,
My trust in you was most(ly) true.
For long I believed, I assumed, I knew
Life would yield a slow thickening of my branch,
Gentle sap pushing new buds into view.
But now I see by a sunrise long overdue,
That worms or rot or fungus licked by root,
Has grown my trunk brittle and askew.
Now what to do? Now what to do?
The best I can offer as I sit upon this pew,
Is to tell it to you straight,
Even if my words be blue.
And to call the Dove anew
To roost among my browning leaves
And sing me back to you.
Yes, sing me back to you.