In the grass along the road
the body of a sparrow.

This road I walk, this mystery,
do I imagine myself unseen, unaccompanied?

Hagar and Ishmael in the desert,
watched over by angels.

A road seems good, but narrows,
becomes a mere path, fades into weeds.

Still, I am not alone. This is still
only the middle of the story.

I sit a little way from myself, a bowshot,
and get some perspective.

Even the silence is the voice of God,
this path a line on God’s palm.

Not a sparrow falls to the earth
apart from the Loving One.


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