I sit.
See after all these years,
my perceptions, ignorance, short falls,
created non existent landscapes.
I wonder about the Masters hand?
See.
How much I ran.
Wonder.
How much I did His command.
Wonder.
Was I always a loaf of bread in the making?
put in cold hot fire where I’m still baking.
You, with no face, no name.
Change and change the frame again, again.
Reference points disappear.
I feel You close.
I feel You near.
After All Theses Years
2008 ©