The Hermit Keeps My Heart

As the deer yearns for running streams
So is my soul searching for the living God.

Oh, I yearn with the deer
more wild than tamed.
I thirst for rumbling creeks
and crags of granite, bears
for company, and gaping skies.
My God is found in wild places
and I cannot peer out
on city streets
and see divinity.

But there is a hermit next door.
In blue denim habit
she tosses back her head
and laughs at images of God.
One hand nestling the hair of an urchin
she keeps her heart on wild flowers
struggling through the sidewalk crack.
Oh, here is God! Yes, here is God
She urges me to see.

The hermit is a poet
but for days now
her pen is stilled.
I am afraid.
Unless she writes again
How will I ever feed my soul?


From A Hermit Holds My Heart
Ellen Porter
Benetvision