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