Your meeting me was an anchor
if I may so call myself grounded.
You—christened from birth,
such a supple vessel
who does find your way with the wind;
how I long to hold you as life's fluctuant waters
giving you purpose,
permitting your go.

How I long to know the way of the wind that touch you;
she has with her why you would ever stop and consider,
as humbly I pray.

How I long to be the star that – with you
through all and to Our destination.
Then your aim be not your purpose,
for All have but one fate
with many—a converging path;
no, your purpose be as mine,
though different form we take:
To feel the presence of our Creator
in our action, fulfilling His means,
as 'tis not His end be with ours.

And time would be each distinguished pattern of wave,
as look I up from the depths you once reached for,
your taking time to be but with life between us.

And as you leave me now,
each grain of sand – a word I am
to you.

Will you stop? they ask.