Countless pages I have turned,
millions of notes heard,
thousands of days with sun or rain and snow,
sliding over or slapping or tickling my skin--
But in that slippery moment before
I arch my fingers gently
to black and white keys,
I become, for a moment or a few passing centuries,
the missed snapshot when the out-breath
sighs out, dissipating like mist
to glide through hanging strands of moss.
I am the subtle way a forest can taste like dark chocolate,
or the sunset smell of orange sherbet,
or the aching space of a missing loved one,
blazing up brilliant and shining and suddenly
unassailable and timeless—
but with just enough smoke that I still let tears fall,
harmless and nourishing.
No, no need to name or explain the mystery here;
it is simply the subtle place of all Beginnings.
Find the entire poetry collection This Nurturing Awe: Poems Inspired by the 99 Beautiful Names of God at