Wanting memories to appear
with strange juxtapositions
that flow to the woods,
I study the hawk circling
then landing on a winter branch
watching it view the ground
for only movement that it sees.
I dance with my amazement
at how the certainties of yesterday
continue to appear as idols in my life.
I wonder, are there necessary
idolatries that God does not mind?
How does one know how
to resolve the paradox
that all will be revealed in time?
Will another dimension be needed?
Once again my poems become questions.
Perhaps questions make memories.
A Thread You Follow 