epoch
* a poem of time and fire *
God Who made the eyes and ears, what Do you expect from us? We stand and stammer, Our unclean lips fumbling the word for fire. Holy ground, for us?—are we not Moses, Drawn from time’s deep waters, by Your mind, Counting desert stars, until Your Word Burns and then returns within our days— An instant, and an epoch, in Your gaze.
This is one of those poems that sort of materialized in my mind without leaving too many explanations for its existence. I tend to overthink my life, especially my art, and so it’s a humbling sort of epiphany to have a poem that I can’t fold into a thematic box—it feels as if I’m reaching very deeply into that “inner well” that Martin Shaw claims exists inside each human soul. But I was certainly inspired by Moses’ experience at the burning bush; isn’t it interesting that confronted with the Presence of God, he’s still bound up in his own insecurities? Yet then God reminds him that He is the author not only of our inner topography but also of the great sweeping canvas of time, and He somehow invites us outside, into the cool freshness of His eternity. Moses accepts the invitation, stands in deep time for those moments with God, and apparently catches some of that burning-bush fire—returning to Egypt with the coals glowing in him. May it be the same for each of us.
Ever upward,
A