Frail Glass

We pray to you

beyond our lives,

outside the glass globe of our small knowing.

What trace of you is there? Droplets like tears

condensing on frail glass

mist our sight,

blur our vision.

There is a moment

when clouds part at dawn;

the bloodied sun pierces the night sky

with swathes of blinding light.

There is a moment

high on a windy tor,

where one last tree clings,

resolute, to bare rock.

There is always a moment

when eyes open wider than truth:

glass is liquid sand through the furnace. Beyond our sight, we search for you

through the ages, waiting patiently,

trustingly; repeating your words:

Ani Adonai. Once we were shepherds.