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Poem - Tabernacle

All Rights Reserved Kaczmarek, David, Bro.

We forge familiar shapes
        In which to rest a mystery;
A truth with no boundary
        that never yields
        to our own limits.

We were formed, not forged,
        Spirited, not merely crafted,
        not to be a pillow
        for an other
        but a seeker
        of the same.

No common union is this
        lightly grasped
        or hardly received;
that meaning should perish
        in mystery.

(On retreat, 2004)
Brother David Kaczmarek, T.O.R.

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