Aching for Form
Aching for form, scattered, and unkempt
Creation rises from divinity’s breast
In silence of my barren womb, I wept
Dread befalls me—trouble comes, no ease, no rest
Hear my cry, called upward by a whisper
Untangled the root twisted locks made new
Wine poured - tributaries of a river
Encased with colors, a mirror of You
Light reflects on the imagined surface
Blessed movements of Your holy vision
To behold the wonder of Your purpose
Unaffected by mortality’s incision
You are me. Your breath falls from my lips.
May such fruit be bore from my fingertips?