On the boulevard, by the Gulfshore
we're moving, time-separate from
these sun-seekers. Like a slow movie
Our lives relive familiar fears,
paper giants germinating in these
weary souls, these somewhat hollow souls. As we
Wait for dawn, Time screams.
We hold on, chain-bound to earth,
fraying rope flung 'round bright Star -- and we're
The date on the paper I copied this poem from says October 2, 1994, and while that's about right, I believe it was a little bit sooner. Reading it now, having the benefit of some perspective on the difficult circumstances it was borne in, I flinch to read it, as I am not at all sure that I like what it says to me -- the tenuous nature of faith, and yet the stepping out in faith, the willingness to risk it all. It was a scary time, then.
In retrospect, I can see that the rope is not really fraying because it's made out of something Other. And we're not climbing but being pulled up, saved from drowning in our circumstances. And faith? It's given, not summoned up from within, and if it looks tenuous to us it's only because we can't always see Who is on the other end. Faith is the substance of things not seen.