by John Evans. You can view more of John’s work here.
You looked on me with wondering eyes
and without a word observed your smile,
reflected in the stainglass glow,
mingled in your charcoal hair.
I know this place is far from those
in which you would have planted your feet,
But oft the traveling bears the wayfarer
beyond the confines of a familiar keep.
The cry of jubilee has sprung,
a cry from battlements on high
and forth the herald nimbly goes
proclaiming your footfalls on The Way.
For I in you and you in hope
are summoned to a living feast,
thou, flesh of my flesh, song of my song,
A dance of bride and bridegroom amongst the dusk-light glimmering.
When day is done and all souls subside,
When at the twilight of this world, when I am weak,
you are the fortress of my mind
and you are my refuge from the shadows glowering.
No do not say, our hour has passed
to gaze upon the icons and tapestries of mystery,
But stay awhile with me, thou mourning dove,
stay and trace the miles we’ve caught in memory’s imagining.