The Longing.

        Ancient, powerful, torturous

The longing.

           What's it for?

                       I don't know.

A crying over my own

finitude.

            A grief

                over deadness

                    over emptiness

                 over distant

                    unconnectedness.

The rain

                                   envelopes my coldness.

Grey fog

                           friendly in secrecy,

covers me.

The fog understands,

Hides me from 

the joy

                      that mocks the 

                    longing.

Aching

               longing.

***

                                        Psalms 94:17

If the Lord had not been my help,

                                                    my soul would soon have dwelt in the land of silence.

November 25, 1991