Overwhelmed with such losses and confusion
as assail our life in this indifferent world,
we raise to shield us our pitiful words
that at their rare best, hint and tease,
point us toward that Truth beyond our ken,
but always fall short of the telling of it,
and when our puny words fail all intention,
we stand, for a little while, mute witnesses
to the Silence where we are birthed and buried,
leaving then behind us transient sign,
like those rude marks carved in the bark
of molested trees beside some mountain trail
after inscribing hikers have gone their way.
The message is always the same, by whatever name,
Whether by sheer blind luck or by the grace of God,
we came by here. Please don’t forget our passage.