Читать книгу I Call to You from Time - Judith Sornberger - Страница 11

First, I inhale: May I be . . .

Then the exhale: one with You.

I have no idea what this means.

Thoughts flurry like birds come to feed.

Seed’s tempting, and I chew.

Now back to inhale: May I be

sap pulsing through a sleeping tree

a toddler’s crayon drew.

I’m not to imagine what this means.

Not supposed to think or dream.

Not supposed to move.

Just to inhale. May I be

a fallen leaf riding the stream

that lulls me toward Your womb.

Why can’t imagination be the means?

Metaphor’s the way I breathe,

how I follow Your tune.

When I inhale, may I be

listening for all You mean.