top of page


Alberta, Canada, August 2017. Copyright © Michael D. Warden. All Rights Reserved.


The first movement

comes in silence

a soft ripple

on the surface

like silk in the breeze

slowly then

the sun

still hidden away

beyond the horizon

clothes the fog

in bright white robes

quietly rising

like the mists of Avalon

from the still waters

of the lake

its lover’s veil

casually lifting

revealing glimpses

of a larger life

In these Divine rites

in this early morning Mass

I have no answer

I make no vows

only the cool touch

of these holy waters

upon my brow

The first rays appear

as if by surprise

and the cattails rise

to meet them


in the diamond garments

of their vernal frost

and then I see

the egret

appearing as if

from another world


above the bright mirror

of the waters


as in glass

the dance of the dragonflies

Beneath the canopy

of this white morning

and the chorus of frogs

now chanting their Lauds

I kneel in the cold mud

from which I am made

one hand rooted

in my sister Earth

the other straining

toward the sky.

Could there be a longing

more strange than this?

A love more resplendent

in mystery?

Perhaps we are

the thought of God

he doesn’t understand.

Perhaps we are

the heart of everything

he is.

Perhaps he hides to save us

because there is no other way

for us to come to love.

This is my worship.

Before I rise

I pluck a long stem of grass

and smile as I nestle it

between my lips

a final gesture

of playful invitation

to the Mystery

I know

is watching me too

16 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page