The impassable narrows,
forbidding expanse.
The dry places. Cement.
And sand, but mostly cement.
Heat but no verbs here,
no movement or possibility.
Looking back on the wrong turns,
speculation is useless,
on the losses and betrayals,
explanation is the shadow of sand.
But.
The burning sun in the stone
is also in you.
Divine energy hides even
in hearts as hard as stone.
Let yours be struck open.
Behold with such force
it shakes what you behold.
Smack the being of the world
with the being of your being.
Be so fully present
even in outrage
that the stone weeps.
Enough to shatter yourself,
but instead flows sweet, pure water.
In the desert to come
it will be easier to believe
in the hard sun, the dry stone.
But the water will flow,
as constant as the rock.