The green-gold glory of an afternoon
is woven into tapestries of blue
just opposite silk shadows of the moon,
where stories dance. Dance slowly in the dew,
for Heaven’s breath may sparkle on the grass
and joy may spring from single grains of sand.
The truth upon a lily may amass,
and peace within a puddle. Make demand,
ye dreamers, of the senses to divine
the poetry in particles and pins.
Let prophecy and memory align
upon humility, where all your sins
to virtues yield, and note: where’er you trod,
you walk upon the fingerprints of God.