What if, our face 'is' mask, and only so, in order that, we might be known, of any sense? What if we are 'hollow', back of all, a race of beings, owing God, our cloak...and men, our unknowing?
What if here, we fold our wings...to fall, among your warm children, harboring in mystery, and stealth...our own forgetting? What if we, in earth...serene, reside, and here, in wonder...contemplate , a father we've denied...because, we cannot see him?
Wonder not, we are not known, of anyone...then, for we are of our father in heaven.
Amen
Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico
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