Wilderness

Fiddleback spiders blossomed
lilac.

Everything was a surprise then:

     Footsteps on the bluebells
     loosing
     a blanket of stars.

Words used to appear
and scatter that way before me.

Treetops bloomed
into the dark.

Hands high and open,
I staggered beneath
their grace,

avenue
to God's whisper.

Or maybe
hands up and empty
beneath
the wind in the leaves.

Soon after,
came that heel
pressing
my face hard into the mud.

I fear it:

Being the wilderness.
The distance that is crossed
in the stories he tells.