I am sitting here crafting an email
The email words are surface
One step down is my messy garage
An incomplete symbol for my life
Rotting door and everything
I long for the Holy solitude
Solitude that is not alone
But alone with you oh Wonder
Yet I am here in the noise
A life that beats the runners rhythm
My mind and spirit grow lichens
The dew settles on my beard
Moss grows in the keyboard I use
But not really, the woods are far
The fog I know it conceals
This longing is not for the woods
It is not held back by my own failings
Oh Source I feel it
Forgotten in the thrum of life’s churn
Remind me of beauty, please, of joy
