Sister Elizabeth

Elizabeth, there is mystery and certainty
in a husband who cannot speak.
As on the peaks there is a majestic silence,
secluded from a life lived in hope of mercy.
A change in scenery like the ceasing words
that leads into a preparation of praise.
You are the wind that sweeps above the rays
and looks at life from breathless heights,
leaving the barren below, seeing God in the sights,
for He has yet to show up in ways you know.
Beauty and mystery speak as whispers between
the Aspen trees when our regular dreams are
crowded out by the weeds.
In cornfields sewn but in mountainsides find
the God that miraculously steps into life.
What then will this be? So separately called than
we, so far from our normality, from our
self-defined reality. What then will this be?
Sisti, pour some hot cocoa for me,
come sit by me here under the tree...