In precision, so given

Through a thousand nights

The same questions

Let go, take hold of your whispers

If you could in this season

Speak up

The wind distracts me

Your creation speaks loud

And I cannot decipher

Your voice from their vibrations

As I listen and lean in

My thoughts collect

To a still pond

Like a watershed easing its way

To the ocean of Your becoming

And your ceaseless amazement