George Murdock - Above all Things

In the darkness of his crib shades draw against the somnambulent breeze
moving in a rythm uncounted
the fractured light from a waxing moon
streak shadowy patterns of leaves
and boughs of an acient Sycamore
which towers above all things
He hears the wail
of train whistle and squealing iron shoes,
of shouting men and barking dogs,
emerging from boxcars
the odor of sweat and urine
fetid in the night air
The crickets fail to drown
the whimpering of humanity
bough shadows become
points of shining steel
thick leather souls and heels of boots
He hears the amazement
the confusion, the fear
asking himself on the verge of fitfull sleep
staring at the dance of leaf and wist
'Where is God who stands above all things? '

George Murdock

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