February 09, 1994|By Robin Stratton

Sitting in darkness I murmur the psalms

my forebears have sung since moon and

planets were younger, brighter than now.

I watch at the doorposts and wait, senses

alert for a change that will signal your

passing. I lean to the rhythm of breathing,

reach for your pulse, suffer the cadence

of silence and words that are meaningless

save in some secret recesses of soul I can

no longer reach.

"The Lord is my shepherd. He leads me . . ."

where . . . where . . . I do not know . . .

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