(A poem for Pentecost.)
“Words written in the past are fixed,” he said, “the meaning
unchangeable; otherwise, you and I,
we have no truth to tell, only words,”
and we watched the sun slip its moorings and fall
behind the trees beyond the lilied lake; but
When inspiration fell like a satellite and blew their minds,
meaning was dynamic, sharpened and blunted,
lost and found in fifteen languages,
discordantly and gloriously disarrayed,
and truth broke loose, its spirit on fire.
over the water 