church history

I am walking in these old tracks

leading to some Wild Haven

pressed into ancient hills where

the wind's breath bears

the voices of saints.

They lead me to places most humbly ordinary
where long grasses, sour plums,
and thistles abide.

But once in awhile, they steal me off

to a star strewn height

where I'm blinded by pure
goodness, beauty, or love:
where I touch
the edge of an angel's wing,
fiery white.