Until I'm Dust

The oaks are leaning in to watch.

I bound, my lungs two burning scrolls,

and something vast moves through this air,

parting trees like the Red Sea.

.

There is no sound. It is the call.

No crash of hooves, no thunderclap,

just desire, balmy as summer’s light,

nigh closing night’s every gap.

.

I jump the creek. The stones glow white.

My shadow stretches, stretches back

toward something standing at the bank;

the creek is running off its track.

.

How long must You pursue me?

The birches blink their silver eyes.

The moss receives my every step

unlike the ground defying your angels.

.

And I trip on the roots of my confessions.

But I rise, and keep on rising still,

until I float, and keep floating,

above the ridge, above the hill.

.

And then: a clearing, and I stop.

Not caught. Not dragged. Not held by force.

Just stopped, the way a river stops

when it has run its course.

.

I am condemned. I am the water.

I am the holy land of water. And all that's to come

runs in until there is nowhere left to run.

I will find a way until I’m dust.