I read of times when the Voice of God was heard;

thunderous times of tangible awe and audible law

and my heart ached.

I yearned to hear God speak, but somehow He remained silent

and the hazy golden-violet glory of the sun turning to rest

seemed like a whisper almost recognised

but quickly stilled.


Once I thought I heard the Voice,

and I snapped to attention waiting on the command

I would have done anything if I’d just been told

walked a world or sailed a storm

If only He’d asked me

But, the sound retreatedand I imagined

a divine disappointment

in the enclosing quiet.


Then, like a quiet surprise on a fragile breeze

I sensed an arm, light as a dandelion

resting on my shoulder and asking to stay

And as I lingered under that nourishing touch

it was as if the whole world

person and plant, creature and void

sang with the Voice

And called me ‘friend’.