Nomads all, bearing caravans of children along the way,
we have walked through four decades of goat-skin tents
into a rising dawn, this spirit song humming at our heels.

Didn’t know what signing up for this pilgrim life really meant,
but the seeker within cries, Journey or arrival, it will be worth it!
Sometimes this faith is sweet as a fig.

When it is not, remember this:
We are the sand of Abraham, flung like stars across the horizon,
and know him who sent us, blindly hoping, into that sun.


March 21, 2014 — Alexandra Hunter
Tags: poetry