Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Colors Falling and Those That Remain
There is no pooling these colors for long.
The flakes my daughters rake up and jump into
blaze with their laughter in the dusky chants of light;
trees letting go fists of fire the seasons tended;
speaking the fleeting and all is fleeting,
slipping through the fingers of air.
But what remains is the spectrum of God
in the palms of our hands,
our clasping hearts:
if we would only see Him in these parching
transitions to dust
and what remains held
in His mind for eternity.