Dawdling again at the edges of the olive grove,

My unwillingness to travel deeply continues to irritate me,

Like a song I used to hear my mother sing,

But could not stand to hear as a child.

XXX

Now, the path is clear,

But the way is foggy,

Eventually, I will not be able to see,

Just feel.

XXX

Which might be OK.

A Catholic Guide to Ashes

Naked

Bright sunlight deepens the visibility,

Of all my warts and bruises.

Yet, amongst friends it matters not a jot.

xxx

And you, the shining Presence,

Cast a welcome shadow on our leaflessness,

As we stand naked; cold; but pleased with our disposition.

xxx

Surrendering to your love.