Deep hands in eddied streams,
It all goes endless on,
Yet all the droplets bead,
Fine pearls the palms along,
A gift of other eyes,
So feeble and bemused,
Becomes so tactile, wise,
Lights on the fickle fuse.

Another milestone sat upon,
Thudding down an inch,
Embedded for good riddance,
As I run off in a pinch,
These stones I lock and turn upon,
Greet me without a flinch,
And looking up I'm somewhere else.

Walking on a snowy afternoon,
A sight as enchanted as its rare,
It does not deign to linger soon,
Like faeries in the molting air,
I walk on slowly as you do,
Beneath light sift to palest glare,
My mind trots on a little tune,
To make a poem strung and fair.

Dark nights and bright days,
Coalesce in a brilliant cycle,
And He steps in.

Shadows are as light to him,
Even in the depths, He won't let me dwell alone,
On the highest heights He sits and points me further up.

At the core of my soul He tabernacles,
And so I call abba Father,
Through dark nights and bright days.

Life chained in death,
Shall not be held long,
For He knows chains like no other.

The chains of Sheol held him there,
And He bore on himself the cold metal of the unrighteous,
And became sin to break mine.