conjectural navel gazing; jesus in lint form

an interesting poem for sunday morning

In Whom We Live and Move and Have Our Being

Bird's afloat in air's current,
sacred breath? No, not the breath of God.
it seems, but God
the air enveloping the whole
globe of being.
It's we who breathe, in, out, in, the sacred,
leaves astir, our wings
rising ruffled - but only the saints
take flight. We cower
in cliff crevice or edge out gingerly
on branches close to the nest.
The wind marks the passage or holy ones riding
that ocean of air. Slowly their wake
reaches us, rocks us.
But storm of still,
numb or poised in attention,
we inhale, exhale, inhale,
encompassed, encompassed.

- from Denise Leverton, The Stream and the Sapphire