Until Quiet

With you at the tip of my pen, I wrote
until words found their branches, tucked in
feathers, and nesting lightly, breathed in
the incense of lilac and pine,
rose, earth, and cedar;

until stillness,
revealing its canopy, drew me into
all of its dimensions, offered me
its hand to enter the depths
of its colour-stained span of mystery;

until quiet
welcomed my All into its rising prayer
over and through the whole community of creation
and opened onto the contours and fullness
of the wild Everlasting.

Kimberly M. King

“…there is a sense in which you are at the tip of my pen, my spade, my brush, my needle—of my heart and of my thought...“ Pierre Teilhard de Chardin