O Thou who hold the future…
do you hold the future?
I long for a hand, dark and mighty,
turning a wheel, or sweeping
all away, and into place.
I want a great hawk, with black talons,
circling this world, diving even now,
to carry off our overspilling woes
and those who cause them.
But I see no hand or wing, or sense even
a hand-shaped cloud. Only a depth,
an ocean, or arms, the deepest canyon, holding us,
a swaying, as if borne over rough ground,
and a great leaning.
Listen to the audio recording: