I tend to wander ’round at night,
up the hill and to the right.
I long to see one planet bright
and oh, the moon, the sweet moonlight!
Yet when I gaze into the sky
the questions come, like “Dear God, why?”
Or maybe “When? Before I die?”
Or “Is it all a horrid lie?”
“Is it that I am not so ready,
not quite able, too unsteady?”
“Do I hurt with words too heady?”
“Am I caught up in the eddy
thinking I am in the flow
when truth be told I hardly know
how your love lives and how to show
that it’s both high and far below?”
I’m begging you dear Lord, “Reveal
your will for me, what cards to deal!
You know my passion and my zeal.
Perhaps I simply need to heal
and grow into a man.
Or show more strength or have a plan?
Learn to knit a silly afghan,
eat more tuna from a can?
Seriously, I’m grasping here
for guidance (with no trace of fear).
So frequently l shed a tear
and wish to hold to what’s most dear . . .
But that’s just it now, isn’t it?
I need to move toward you a bit.
And I will do that: take the hit.
Whatever you say. Make me fit!
I’ll go with you, all the way
in wand’ring nights and every day.
I guess that’s all I have to say.
I’m all in and come what may . . .”
Photograph “The View from My Garden” © 2018 Timothy Waugh