[We who wander in desert watch our lives ebb away. We wonder how God could have led us to such a place, and yet we meet God. Even here. Even now.]

Spirit Streams in Desert Dry

Endless days I wander, a nomad in search of friendly fields.
Hot wind sucks my spirit dry, melts mirage of desperate dreams.
Silence surfaces beneath burning noonday sun, rises to feverish pitch.
Tired tracks spiral into nothing, covered by shifting sand.
Save me from these million grains of sand. Save me
from oblivion. Save me from myself. I plead
to no one with escalating degree.

Weary, I became scorpion-like, always stinging first. With
sidewinder stealth I strike imagined predators. Then, in stillness
that suffocates, Spirit sweeps dread away, leads me onward—
straightaway to unimagined home, where I feast on ripe fruits
of faithfulness underneath a sheltering sky. Surely even now
shadow of your hand shields me as I drink
from spirit streams in desert dry.

© 2002, Dawn Richerson

Art: Digital Designs by Dawn, Copyright 2002