from Elijah's cave

Celebrating Jon's Amazon spot http://www.amazon.com/Thirty-Birds-Jonathan-Vold/dp/0615664776/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1346510708&sr=1-1&keywords=thirty+birds this poem honors our process, praxis, poiesis. Order the book and spread the Good Word!

            from Elijah's cave

praxis, poiesis, publishing stuff—and

who more than we are such

dreams in the rough,

to work wintry hours in infinite days

with attic contentment

in inchoate

ways. We’re mindful of elders, newborns and  

peers. We sheepishly draft

substance and form,

throw caution to cauldrons and mantras to

wind. We badger our brains,

conjure our bards

and eschew a vision of glory—for

the still small voice of God

in each story—

even in rough-hewn relays. The praxis

remains, beyond writing   

records or facts.

My littlest turtle climbed out of her

tank, fell from the table,

left life above,

waddled and found herself hopelessly lost

(what labors we wage to

feign to be free).

Dried out, days later, venture agroof, ac-

ceeding a heavenly hand,

she put to proof

the abandon of dreams and embrace of

the Fall (the reason we

wander in grace).

So back to that praxis, poiesis and

stuff: it’s not all for naught

that dreams persist

and creatures continue to aimlessly

miss—the mark of our faith,

oblige noblesse.