roots to treetops

Rachel Rostad

the day is rushing, flowing
relentlessly towards its rest.

the ocean beats at the shore,
sighing with each gentle crest…

the summer spray dews my skin;
each silver memory drains

like brilliance; it’s beautiful—
yet beauty cannot remain.

could I make this a photo?
capture this light and these smiles?—

or can I turn this car back;
erase the lengthening miles?

halfway done, I’m two years in—
my lips move my eyes are shut

halfway done, I’m two years out—
I want, want!, but can’t think what

God, Dream-giver, wait for me
ease this slow separation

barraged by what-ifs, how-tos,
slow aching revelations

O teach me God to become
what it is that I am not.

the scenery whistling by…
—labyrinths leading the lost.