You cannot see a breeze;
You can feel it slice your sun-reddened face,
And rise and fall, the siren of your ears,
And whirl the leaves,
And part the grass like Moses.
You cannot name a breeze;
It will not be owned or ever blocked,
Or kept from some dark corner,
Or tempted or repulsed,
Like a quantity of something made.
When I knew spirit, it was a breeze;
It did not cool or silence the din in my head;
It found me fearsome in my room
Where I was helpless and alone with my friends,
Casting shame into a parting flame.
I know the breeze now from the wind;
We rise and fall together, nameless and unseen,
But ever felt when absence haunts the world
And eyes start at the memory of love.
Our fire does not consume.
– Fr. David Kaczmarek, T.O.R.
(© copyright All Rights Reserved Kaczmarek, David.)