You are a word God utters
to me,
His voice in the dark
And out of the dark
The thrumming syllables of light,
Heard in a whisper sometimes,
Sometimes a shout.
You are a word God
utters to me,
Out of the throat of salvation
And out of His silence
For mine
Into the imperfect sentence of time.
You are a word God
utters to me,
In the syntax of your eyes,
In the dialect of your hands.
You are God's syllables,
His breath like a ghost in the shape of a thought,
And in the economy of His speech
You are a little air between His lips.
You are a word God
utters to me,
The same word always
Which I do not always hear
The same, not being altogether fluent in the language.
You are a word God
utters to me,
Neither lie, nor random, nor a second thought.
You are his diction,
accent, definition,
God's verb, His lyric, His conversation,
His rhythm, His rhyme.
You are a word God
utters to me,
And I am a word with which He answers you.
--Brother Augustine Towey, C.M.