wearied of business, I glanced out to see
winter sun throw into sharp relief
a barren land of mountains, a fine show
geology's inhumanity to man.
A drift of cloud had settled on
duvet on a bed—what light or warmth
has the tiny match-flame of our creativity
all this? Of course he made it,
just as he made the cold terrain of the psyche
soul, or spirit, call it what you will,
with its unclimbed ridges and deeper valleys,
some always in shadow, however high
the sun of righteousness rises on healing wings.
a plane journey from
sun of righteousness rises on healing wings cf Malachi 4:2.