These Words I

THESE WORDS I

This poem isn’t chalice nor

the loaf, thus insufficient for 

the hunger gnawing at the heart. 

These words fall infinitely short 

of spanning cross the Endless 

that abides, are all but hopeless

for the work of bridging what 

may not, by word, be bridged.

This very line itself is quite in-

adequate to fill the hollow in 

the soul, is as a dying candle

to illuminate a vast cathedral.

So thank you, Lord, that this        

 is not the task for such as these. 

They are, instead, a lover’s wink, 

a yellow window on an evening

street, a mist before the waterfall—

             if not transcendence in itself, a call.