Barry Casey taught religion, philosophy, ethics, and communications for 37 years at universities in Maryland and Washington, DC. He is now retired and writing in Burtonsville, Maryland. More of the author’s writing can be found on his blog, Dante’s Woods. Email him at email@example.com. His first book, Wandering, Not Lost: Essays on Faith, Doubt, and Mystery, is now available.
Think of the Sabbath as made, but not finished, that portion of time given us to shape as we wish.
I know what you’re thinking / that I flew here from heaven, / flitting my way through the galaxies, / wings aglow against dark matter.
The preacher enters the pulpit. / The waiting watchful befriend her like a cloak. / In the round silence of those before her / she breathes — in, out, in.
Let us be true, truly be, / let us be. That was the refrain / I sang under the moon I lost / some months ago.