Castle and Kingdom

I am dust,
Dignified by divine fashioning,
And yet, a shifting soul of the finest sand.  I am
Contingent and
Derivative, or
I am nothing at all.

What shape will I be
today, my God?
Any breeze may make me
a castle or a whirlwind.

Scoop me all in your hands
And cover me.
Let your breath permeate my grains
And lift them into order.
Let them take no form,
But what, from your mouth,
The Spirit wills.

Diaspora Anastaseos

Burst like the wind-struck daffodil.
Be these flung white hammers
     lifted up on tongues of air;
Crash down into the sea of toppling green towers.

Let the waters baptize you,
And let your tendrils reach down
     and claw fistfuls of earth
          to grow the seed,
             
                up and higher:
Be not Babel,
But the Liar's Ladder.

For the Seed's sake:
     Burst, break, die, and rise again.