Poems From The Porch
In Love We Have Our Being
The buzzards are congregating along the shoreline this morning,
and the waves are choppy.
Steadily moving clouds obscure all but a fiery, red glow along the horizon.
The waterfowl are swimming by in small groups,
hopeful for a scrap from the breakfast table.
Now the sun emerges as a hazy brightness, no longer red.
The lake is lapping and lulling,
and overhead a migration of birds calls out, “Good morning!”
I am suddenly awake to the perfusion and pervasiveness of water,
a seemingly unlimited amount of droplets manifesting in various forms
without borders to delineate where one ends and another begins.
the damp air embracing me
my own body
It is impossible to separate the droplets one from another.
Upon closer examination beneath, beneath, still further beneath,
it is impossible to separate me from you.
It makes me wonder,
“Are we not the body of God?”