Fabric of Vision

(12-21-1987)

(for my father, at the close of day)

["When he had thus spoken,
he spat on the ground,
and made clay of the spittle,
and he anointed the eyes of
the blind man with the clay." - John 9:6]

We gaze down on a summer day
And see unfurled before our feet
A minute, living tapestry
So frail, precise and exquisite.

We gaze up in the starry night
And see a boundless panoply
Of suns and worlds and gaping voids
That logic cannot quite explain.

We gaze within our hearts and find,
As death unfolds its gentle shroud,
That meek and loving source of all
Who saw us from eternity.

And when our eyes have turned to soil,
When light and darkness are no more,
We find ourselves beyond the veil,
Our blindness healed by spit and clay.

- Sitaram