Part of what I love about writing poetry is sometimes I sit and ponder one line or a concept and hours or days or weeks later it develops into a peom, with verse and rythym and fullness. Other times I just write and then spent hours and days and weeks pondering what I wrote.
This is one of the latter times.

the sky is blue
because the waves of blue
scatter most easily
and thus the secret of a
constant of our lives
is granted scientific banality:
the blue of sky, and
the weight of gravity, and
the heat of the sun, and
the division of cells, and
the inside of the atom,
so many mysteries made simple.
And yet,
I do not think
that one day we will be able to say
so this one a doctor, and
there a teacher, and
here a preacher, and
a compassionate social worker, and
next parents, mothers and fathers, and
so on till all the gifts of the Spirit
are felt easily discernable.
The Spirit has no wavelength
no measurable properties
despite all the heat of passion it fires
and weight of responsibility it confers
apart from greatest intricacies
for the Spirit of God is
mystery which sparked all others…

written 06/05/08