This is a poem about the deep vulnerability of prayer. It is a prayer poem seeking to rest in the correct place with God. It recognizes that my own humanity may, at times, get in the way.
Where Eagles Fly
by Rev. David Rommereim
Last week God schlepped about
The heavens, leaned into earth
To inclined Her ear
To my prayer.
She greeted the nonsense
With a twinkle in the eye,
Since it cleared not the epidermis,
Nor the lymph, keeping its heart
Safely tucked from harm.
She grieved my melancholy,
Knowing it detached all remnant
Of the cosmic dust, that accompanies
The primordial concillience,
Of matter with meaning.
Even my flapping tongue
Could not reveal the mastery of
Her roar and its guiding star.
In prayer, I could not shutter, nor quake
In the sheer silence of her passing.
So, it became a pebble,
Skipping across the lake,
As if this child could solve
The dilemma of being alone.
Afterward, I painted my own inquietude
Yearning for a new naiveté,
That could spin on her whirlwind,
Casting to the bay dead words
Meant for spring, to discover
I could not free my need to know.