Is this the evening fry on homeward air?
Like far off sounds of sea through fraying wires,
The thin receding wind in open skies,
I long for everhome.
Where all the days are young.

I'd never leave the house of friends,
Or cease to soon become,
I'd have all curiosities,
But truly set on one,
I'd walk with you by wood and stream,
Far to the higher hills...

The shadow of the almighty,
Marches through the deepest depths,
Structures of logic marked with divine elegance,
Imposing what cannot be strangely conceived,
Yet crying out beauty ever louder,
Drowning restless monologues within.

Turn in earlier,
Cash out tomorrow,
And see to the day,
In His sight given,
And seek his face,
By His life given.