How this heart
no larger than my hand
can enfold heaven, hell,
and this wide earth
this is the mystery
no one will ever understand. – Angelus Silesius

I find myself waiting for word on the state of my loved ones, in hospitals and homes, water flowing from the sky and from my eyes. Some have made it through the day, others have gone to see God face to face.

Moving right along,
In case mine tips the balance,
I begin to pray

Leaving things undone
I sit still, awaiting word,
Allowing for breath.

Why do I picture
God’s hand gently pouring rice?
Grains land as people.

I find myself there
widening calm rarely grasped
but sometimes perceived.

I’m suddenly tired.
Are you sleeping or heav’n bound?
Always I hear both.