Mist

Here, I watch
the ocean return to the sky
and I am created by
the ways I divide the wind.
Though we named it,
the mist does not stay the same,
but is movement
between ocean and air, and I,
adrift on the titles of clouds
would know it as it is to be known.

Whither toward do you fly...

How now, sweet shadow, and whither toward

do you fly; surely, much farther than I

for my thoughts are too heavy to carry

abroad, and your load far lighter than mine.

Surely, you seek to escape from the night

but no matter the method, it follows

our heels; I see you ahead, searching out

for a light, or a lantern's glow, revealed.

At times I follow, and at times I lead
but ever your shade stretches next to me;
though you'd journey afar, you know I am
weighed by each step, and not nearly as free.

Though you're shaped by light, my thoughts are darkness
illume'd, and I am defined by the night.

Hold my hands as god's hands, for even
god trembles, and servants grow weary
without brief respite; do I ask of myself
more than what god desires? For my dreams
are too real to keep to the night

or the comfort of shadows -- yet how do I speak
when the voice has grown weary, and
my footsteps are slow. Do I seek a reprieve?
I am burdened by silence; yet to burn
in your purpose is all I desire.

I am fearful of sleep, for years are not time
to fulfill what's been promised, nor learn
what you know -- yet I follow your steps
like a map of this valley, and a path
through these acres of wilderness, grown.

I am compelled by your love;

though rest does not find me

I lie, for my peace is your peace.