Hymns On the Way Home
                                                                                                                                                
My lids rise up in the light,
drowsy irises contract
replacing the reddish dark with
the smooth, cool breast of the sky;
a bulwark never failing
to reflect the silver spread 
of a new sun washed by rain.

The road, damply glistening,
slides beneath the car,
pennants of trees and grass 
in its gray hands;

The deep slant of the sun
enrapt in rain's lustre:
the dark groan of organ pedals
elated into the play of high-strung notes;

The grasses fan out along the highway,
decadent green fringes,
arranged in glowing scallops,
wet and dripping heads 
soaked with light;

Grape-cluster lupines,
strung on the threads of the sun,
drape the gold-green neck and shoulders
of the overpasses,
and descend to the belly of the fields.

My eyes, round cups,
filled to overflowing
with nameless, swelling praise--
Oh, Lord--as if you were!