In the grass along the road
the body of a sparrow.
This road I walk, this mystery,
do I imagine myself unseen, unaccompanied?
Hagar and Ishmael in the desert,
watched over by angels.
A road seems good, but narrows,
becomes a mere path, fades into weeds.
Still, I am not alone. This is still
only the middle of the story.
I sit a little way from myself, a bowshot,
and get some perspective.
Even the silence is the voice of God,
this path a line on God's palm.
Not a sparrow falls to the earth
apart from the Loving One.