I wonder how many burning bushes
I have missed,
the many marvelous signs from which
I shift my gaze
unhalted, unfazed
by the curious conflagrations in my midst.

And what of the baskets in bulrushes
floating through the midst,
or the low man leaned on, lambasted, lashed
by a stronger, crueler hand–
the poor, the slandered, the scammed,
a multitude with no witness?

Oh! What conflicts avoided, their happy futures
unwittingly dismissed
while dust clouds billow like silent sandstorms
beneath my fleeing feet
beating hasty retreat,
choosing instead this lonely wilderness.

When those faraway flames charm as much as
my own independence,
and every craven fear is fully immersed
in a smokeless fire,
and my selfish desires
are reverently removed at your insistence,

and a still, small, and sudden voice hushes
this reluctant apprentice
from his ceaseless, thoughtless skepticisms
that beg endless exceptions
and pose ignorant questions
until my heart is, at last, defenseless–

only then will I behold all God touches,
and feel, beneath my feet, His presence,
which hallows every wild, ragged corner
in my dim periphery,
gently beckoning me
to turn aside and truly see these holy fires in the distance.