O Word who will
not let me be,
O constant Upender
of every expectation:
You score my heart with
hopes too true to bear.
To speak them
is to break
with their weight.
Each one, a universe
star-charted with
its own orbits
burning paths of light
through every last
vast emptiness.
You call me
from my dreams,
wake me to wait
in darkness beneath
constellations of promise
whose shapes take
no form I know.
Search me, then,
my unsearchable God,
who cannot forsake
the one He loves.
O Breath filling Word
sounding still on tongues
of ceaseless flame:
You are the need
I cannot name, this
languageless longing
the seat of my being.
O Love only wholly
entering that which
empties forth all self,
we stand apart
from you and call you
Trinity.
But when caught up
within, there is
no word for this
piercing, outpouring
Oneing.
You are the lover.
You are the loved.
You are the longing.
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