A thousand folded wings . . .
like the pause before a storm - - pure
transient moment when life
lays down its broken parts and pieces.
And now a sudden restlessness,
stirring in momentous waves.
Wind is born, a splendid,
ragged breath, and gradually the sky
parts, like the wide, slow swing
of hinges. Gathered light - -
aurora, or a prism, circles slowly
on the bent horizon, shaping
and reshaping. Then, silence, infinite
solemnity. And the worn palms
of His hands, lifting like semaphores.
Like the kindling of Genesis.
Like the parting of the sea.
Like the raising of the dead.