Cary Briel

What secret is this,
for the asking,
coming in its time–
determined when there wasn’t time–

Twins divided
by wind?
He rages in cloud, as offers are made
of height and station

and Being,
and bed pillows are tempted,
and weary rest’s stifled.
He rages,

when sand lines are shifted–
and mountains are hurled–
and islands are scattered–
and secrets remain

well beyond leaps from steeples
to save familiar people–
though not known from where or when.
Let angels catch thee

lest ye be smashed, utterly–
lest banded roots perish
in desert sands–
lest He forget His Beloved.