At the crossroads
a man is standing alone,
asking for grace.
He comes and goes,
an honest seeker,
stopping for a moment along the way.
In the haze of the morning mist
the dew drops on the flowers sparkle,
in the rays of the rising sun
they dazzle the eye –
and then disappear…

By the river that is flowing
he stands in the midst of mystery,
secrets rushing by just beyond reach.
He can see it…
He can hear it…
It flows through him…
and he is found –
water slipping through the palm of his hand.

Standing on the mountain
but the mountain is dangling –
over his head.
Full of awe and reverence,
full of fear and trembling,
an oath quickly uttered.
He remembers –
if he blinks it is gone.

By a fire in the forest
the night is still and looming,
shadows on the trees,
silhouetted across his mind.
The coals are brightly glowing
he is mesmerized and yet conscious –
sleep walking through yet another life.

In the breath of times unfolding
a man in his own way is standing
praying for grace.