I’ve been walking the earth in a dream,
skipping faith like pebbles across
the surface of a quiet sea

A foolish hound,
snapping at white horses, tries to catch them
as they melt under the sound

My feet are wet; the pebbles
in my pocket have become an anchor. I reach
after wild geese, grasping at feathers

A heron, surprised, sounds as though
it has been eating rocks. It rises now
with clumsy grace unfolded

It’s been a little while since I’ve shared a poem here. Between, you know, 2020 and a looming new book deadline (deadly exciting!), it’s been an interesting summer. But there is hope in the heron, and music in its rasp, and the water, the medium of God’s creation still calls us to test it with our faith, and our feet …