Hallowed Place
Step into
the stream’s clear pool
Search along
gray rock
That will
not weather
Beyond
sandbanks as they curve
Toward the
sycamore, leaning
From spreads
of fern
The water
pulses
But is not
rushing, is not deep
Compressed beneath
the lowest root
Laid bare
and reaching
Kneel to
meet it bubbling forth
Washing
over, flowing down
Rest upon
the stretch of tree
Through
shadowed branches
Daylight
broadens vibrantly converging
How must one be in your presence
Who fills every part of me
And does not need me to speak of what's passed
For you were there so I could turn
And know you're here for me
J. Elliott Jackson
