The Presence
August 18 2025
by Mark Kikot
What sings in us without its singing heard
Is not delusion or mere fantasy;
And yet, we must imagine every word
That rises from our lips in ecstasy.
The name we give the voice that shapes the sound
Cannot be mouthed or tongued until we wake
The sleeper, whose pure breath stills warms the ground
Grown cold and hard, by dreaming Him awake.
For life’s recall we find ourselves in need
Of beings who no longer touch and bless
So openly our eyes, or wounds which bleed
With perfect love and flaming heart’s caress.
In His embrace the human form, aglow,
Makes angels move through oratorio.
April 15, 2021