it is not a straight road through
country unplanned, alongside hard watered
river, through storm driven mist, that we must
travel, impelled unresisting forward.

the road changes soft to smooth, pocketed
to near non existent and how we
should move determined long before
there was road in this country ever.

and there where green tree stands in
groups unmanageable, refuge to so much life,
where we can stop sheltered, rest. kneel before
broken limbed overgrown communion rail.

to receive as heart and body,
stimulating the work of our tongues,
to speak and digest and taste, the fuel
we seek to continue

through a country unplanned,
unknown stormed and graced, but a country
given us.  gifted in ways we'll not know,
pulling us towards.