Saturday, February 4, 2012
I know a large lily pond nearby,
in an over-grown garden estate,
a small opening in the rainforest.
A secret place,
with reeds congregated
here and there along its mossy marge,
ducks on its placid surface,
golden fish rising from dark depths,
an arbour-like structure beside
with vines upon it,
airy, a framwork like a foreign shrine
from another century,
of ancient mossy wood still hard and solid,
assembled without nails or screws
with the image long missing
on a central seat looking out over
the blossoming lilies.
Three times I have sat
perceive me charitably)
in the place
and tuned into a sense
of lost lordship
under the Lord of all,
sought another perspective
on what may have been hidden,
lost or displaced,
what could be reclaimed.
From there I could pray
for the whole world.