Where the road cuts deep
in the mountain's flank
there are seams of ash in stone.
There was violence once
which a wound reveals
and the fractured bones
still strain
to stand.

Only the wound reveals.

The janitor rests his head
against the window
of the morning bus to home.
He lives alone.
He shuts the door.
And when he dies
he leaves a million dollars
to the music school
for scholarships.

Who could have known?

The heart sets out on its way,
a pilgrim through the world.
The heart draws to itself
all that which can be seen,
though words are not yet born
to name it all to sound.

The heart bears all.

In the end the apostle writes,
"There were many things that Jesus did.
If they were all to be written down,
I suppose the world could not hold the books."

There is so much more to tell.