“your life is hidden with Christ”

Wrapped in your own appendages

Fetally bowed:

Warm, blind, elastic

Gently burrowed



By the soft skin of

Your mother’s fluid


Under brown earth

Under dragging feet, under

The whimpers and

Shouts and snarls

Of Toil.

Your heart beats loud

With the hum of

Happy Solitude.

Awaking then to

Endless, White, Blankness

(here, finally, content)

Of the hiddeness of Christ.