In Our Own Delusion
We think
in our own delusion
of no more needing of no more
knowing our Maker, God
than we now think
& honor water
which at the mere turn
of faucets
we assume always
will continue to flow;
we believe
that water, that life
is our sovereign
right
to have; to use; to take;
to waste;
without limits
without thankful hearts
with no sense
of sacred
as if all things exist
as simply hollow matter
as if somehow
in the pale light of evening
we could now recreate
even ourselves
without any power
beyond that
which is given free;
as if we could somehow be
reinvented
without fall or sin
& in what great Image?
Precarious
Dancing
(Ephesians
5:32)
It remains a precarious dance,
A wedding celebration in which each
Discovers a particular blend of footsteps,
Caught in our singular ascent, which also turns
Among vast crowds of angels, both alive in
Glory & lost in the dead twist of fall.
Grapevine steps weave here,
Walk bold among a tangled line of wisdom,
Waltzing swirls meant to somehow maintain grace.
Here we live within weak flesh,
Where One Holy Church visible & invisible becomes
United, just beyond a thin curtain of silk.
She sings a single
Irresistible melody which calls out hearts
Even when we come here halt & hesitant.
We move, each as imperfect sinners,
Each treading accidental & deliberate
Upon one another’s toes,
We walk in awkward circles,
Joined by shifting hands & clumsy feed partnered
Amid disjointed clamor & every impossible
distraction.
Yet, all of us are found straining,
Bending our imperfect, dull ears to catch
Just one strand of wondrous unity,
Her true tongue beckons, the spotless bride of Christ,
Offering balm & comfort; her sublime voice sings
out Holy,
One perfect song, despite our human failings.
Quiet Things of
Beauty
If a lone icy drop,
An uniqueness shaped
In the precious geometry of a single
Silent snowflake
Falls & in but an instant
Melts upon the lips of a child,
Does that modest moment of beauty,
That particular patterned wonder
Then become at one
With the human
Heart?
If some stunning act
Of simple loveliness releases itself
Like prayer into the world’s vast noise
& finds no ready human
Comprehension
To view its distinctive cascade
Of created being, if but a brief heart breathe
Released, is it altogether lost, or
Does its quiet beauty still
Awe angels & delight
Our mighty Creator
God?
Elizabeth Perdomo has lived and written in the Rio
Grande Valley of South Texas these past fourteen years, moving to the region
from the Rio Grande Valley of New Mexico.
Born in Kansas, and raised both there and in Colorado, she has written
poetry works since a young teen. Perdomo also lived in the Southeastern USA for
a number of years. Her written pieces
reflects on local place and culture, cooking, gardening, ecology and nature,
tradition, spirituality and much more.
