Poem: Believing In
David Grieve
Believing In
Lenses. Because eyes are eyes
God-gifted to me,
to all living bodies,
opening wide the sum of creation,
its wonders and its spectacles,
its disasters and its hazards.
I thank him for lenses which
correct and magnify and explore.
But lenses dim and fail.
Intervals. Because each hiatus tells a story,
in silent, pregnant, hidden ways.
Like the fearful eye of the storm
or the hope of sunshine behind the cloud.
Like the kind respite between pains
or the tense, grinding wait for results.
I thank him for grace in several things, and
His participation and presence and protection.
After the interval, the next act.
Containers. Because they can be solid like a heavy strongbox,
or translucent and fragile, like the skin of life’s first breath.
Or mysterious and puzzling ones which
appear as one thing and convey another,
or floppy, flimsy ones enveloping treasures or
shattering husks propelling their seed onwards.
I thank him for atmospheres saving my breath
and for the final box containing my dust.
All in the end is contained.
And Provisions. In short, bread for the journey, wine to rejoice the heart,
and the proper Word for it all now and then.