This Page in My Hand

So, I like poetry, but I don’t really know how it’s supposed to “work"; it comes out occasionally and I feel its gravity, and it seems to say more than prose. I'm okay if it doesn't follow any poetry rules, and I know now it doesn't have to rhyme (though I do enjoy ones which rhyme!). 

Here is a poem that leaked out onto the page of my journal recently, inspired by the "mundane" moment of flipping a page in my Bible. It was an unexpected encounter with our God - Creator Spirit and Divine Beauty - who arrested my wonder in this otherwise inauspicious act I habituate each day. Something shifted in my attention and the world stopped turning for a brief kairos moment.

 

How frail,

the paper

in my hand.

I turn the page.

Timber once tall,

adorned with yellow leaf,

now thin and small.

This gift now gilded,

bending to my touch,

crackling in the turn,

abundant;

fertile;

freighted

with words

of life.