I Do Not Call Your Name

To those who ask me whom I seek
                 I cannot say
Your name the only word
More ancient than your making 

Ruins Require Belief

The road through the Holy Land
Is littered cities      ruin
Ash and potsherds       charred and
Trampled stone     sand has overtaken
The old stream and some army
Burned the olive grove low
I keep looking for all that wind 
Takes      for example      color

At the Jordan River, A Better Psalm

Two children call to each other
Splashing in the tamarisk
Their laughter snags at 
The psalm we recite      tugs 
Loose    its threads to noise
Syllables dashed midair    
Now they are feeding the animals 
Branches of mustard     singing
Good morning donkeys good morning
Though dusk already weaves
Low        her dark garment

Any Unchanging Valley

For years I only let 
Myself be touched by your language   
Then wilderness    endless valleys
                  here they’ve cut your cave
Out of the mountain              Christ my God
I am left searching for anything final
Searching the resurrection for your death

The Temple

My sisters     you ask where I am
Here the mountains fall to sand
Here the sun asks for more sky
Yes    I go as far as the asking
I would walk centuries to see
The long line of holy men who
Succor me with their teachings
The way I could    grasping
Each their hands nearly
Touch Christ himself         O now
Yes     now I’ve seen the temple