White-breasted Nuthatch

New

Our spirits

Unaware are let go

Out into the cosmos.

Do the hands divine

Omnipotent

Ache, to let us go?

Yearn for our presence

Until our short flight is ended?

Watch the infinite horizon

Where our spirits fly in freedom

And in danger,

Never knowing of the hand

Outstretched awaiting?

Bring the day of glad returning

To the hand we lifted off from

Frail and fearful as we faced

The glory newness of existence,

How much more will be our joy

At reuniting 

Than our sorrows flight is over?

And what will we bring in praise?