Brown Grass

As these tall grasses sway,

wind-tossed and tawny,

back and then bowing,

tumbling and rising,

so my life, shaken,

blown and suspiring,

lurching, it seems, and lifted,

feels, as it riffles through me,

unseen hand of God.

Then for one exquisite moment

they slow,

paused by the stillness,

fragile seed-heads

balanced in the shining air,

I too breathe this ripe moment,

no longer rocked but gently

held in the unseen arms,

seeking love’s face.

Richard Bauckham