The Psalmist

Breath passes my lips in ropes
and heaves.
I’m on my knees now, in awe,
in a silent reverence that
knows no equal.
David’s words maintain their
mantra:
I’m nothing but a fleeting
shadow; I’m nothing but small
exhales and inhales and
then…gone.

My hands untangle from one
another, reaching out
like a dowsing-rod in my desperate
urge to quench the driving thirst
within me.
I’ve realized that I understand so
little, that it’s not Your face
hidden behind the desert curtain,
but mine.
I am still, Lord. I am still
here.