A theological reflection in poetry.

There is a shapeless face which stretches
Itself across the earth,
Mysterious and magnetic,
Turned to and fro by powers unearthly,
It’s shades and contours defy the mind,
Shifting its structures unpredictably,
Not to be contained,
And yet it must,
For by its filling we and all around us live,
Utterly unique yet completely indispensable,
Our relationship is strained both by too much
Or too little contact,
We must ourselves be contained by its rigid fluidity,
Finding both our greatest delight and terror
In the same countenance,
The rich seek to see you,
Body and all,
To gaze upon your beauty- always safely at a distance,
While the poor would be happy with
But a lock of your hair,
But our desires are naive-
No, vain.
For even a touch of your finger
Could decimate our edifices,
You cannot be tamed nor plumbed,
Nor will you obey our command
We are foolish to attempt to capture the beauty,
As if it could be possessed,
But this is our problem:
We want beauty we can keep,
And use,
And pet,
Little aware that this soft face could destroy us.
We want to chart and measure and quantify,
To have a mystery we can fully explain,
But we must be content,
Humble enough to sit
Where the feet and wing once fleeted.

9 September 2014