Wednesday, October 22, 2014


He rode on the cherubim and flew,
  he travelled on the wings of the wind.
                                                    Psalm 17
                                                                                                                     Google Images

During the last light of day,
while evening began spreading
 its' graphite grays 
like chalks of charcoal
across the old, scroll of sky,

while the dark dropped
down the thick steps of the hills
into the soft-chanting fields,
where I remained, uncertain
where I left off or the night began,

as suddenly You came
stampeding down my dark paths 
in the heavy hooves of the wind,
flinging the dust that I am
through Your bright-blinding land. 

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