Watching the horizon, bright sun rising above
baking the desert this lonely morning
I came here for mystical union, total silence
but the mighty sun cares not this morning
What of the Desert Fathers, who searched for love
retreated to their cells in the morning?
Did they unlock secrets, away from violence
find perfect solitude in quiet mornings?
I’ve read their books, listened to their tales,
but the words escape me this morning
I want my eyes to be removed of scales,
like St. Paul seeing Jesus in the morning
