Gathering Together

                My Soul To Yours 


I can explain the expenditure of metered 
words with the equivalent of a mind that 
apprentices itself to the sobs of white-hot 
glares that branch out of loving light. 

The strains of strokes are so minute yet 
so powerful they penetrate skin, escaping 
from the position of observer to active 
participant. Grains of sand are caste aside 

in a fleeting journey of reminiscence where 
dragonflies bicker ceaselessly at the winds 
of night, pushing upward against their capture. 
I have sprawled myself face down in 

the rains where breaths from lungs painfully 
raise stirring small bubbles upon lips that 
yearn to be silenced by such beauty; my hands 
held out to God, as my Savior lifts me up. 

by Theresa C. Newbill