the November morning sun slants
long and bright into my window
green cedars wave in the breeze
discarded poplar leaves
caught in lilac's dense branches
gladiola stems stubbornly
standing tall and green
with iris spears
'we're not dead yet!'
wanting to play banjo but do not pick it up
did not yesterday or in the many days before
longing for You
but sometimes I skirt along the
shoreline
content to gaze at reflections, find
a sign
of Your presence and
design
rather than plunge into deep water
gulping wine
