“We are already one. But we imagine that we are not. And what we have to recover is our original unity. What we have to be is what we are.” Thomas Merton

**

Oh, the wisdom.  Don’t you just love Merton?

**

Going Home

Even words—
cussed-forth, so to speak—wound
that which lies ever-longing,
hidden in God’s wide arms.

We will all die, you know.—

So who can explain
those things that
make us hurt each other?

Why would someone ask who I am,
knowing—I will become
my own accuser?  Doesn’t anyone
know the meaning of safe?

A speck of dust waits,
floats, not-so-blithely, by—singing,
dreaming the same dream,
every waking moment,

of a footprint
on something a bit more solid
than shifting sand.

first published in an earlier version in GFWoman

**
Do you see the connection between the quote and the poem?