Poem For The Sunday Lectionary (Pentecost +19)

(Exodus 33: 12-23)

Blood-red sun
rises into
autumn ripened sky

splitting gray
morning open like
softened stone

and something
gentle is
spilling through,

embracing me
in the curl
of a vast upturned palm,

the light touch
of a wide
welcoming hand.

And did Moses wish
he could stay

in just this kind
of moment

around him
and within . . .

the way I wish
this moment
could stay
in me . . .

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