John the Beloved (from A Widow's Wreath)
I thought I met him once
on a morning caught between rains.
We were travelling the long road to Boston
when our car began sliding across a sea of glass
tumbling down a hillside to the valley below.
wrapping us within the safety of his strength,
carrying us to higher ground,
in and out of our day as swiftly as the rains.
It was then my mind ran backwards
through centuries of time to the Holy Land
when one handsome and strong
blazed like fireweed across ashes of early saints
taking the fatherless into safe-keeping.
John, who chose to remain,
to live into the scripture he heard
breaking across Patmos.
Still tarrying, until the white horse comes.
until the beast no longer leaves his mark,