The idea for this poem was inspired by my friend Ellen who had this insight on the story of Peter walking on the water: "Peter stood on the word 'come', not on the water." I really like this idea because it fits perfectly with an idea in a book I read earlier this year called Notes from the Tilt-a-Whirl by N. D. Wilson. The idea is that while our words describe reality, God's words are reality. The Word speaks "Tree", and a tree is. His words are the great story in which we are a cast of characters. These two ideas sounded like a poem waiting to happen.
In
the beginning was the Word, the words, the world
the Word uttered Water and water was
the Spirit respirated and wind whirled
the words are broad, bitter, blue, as the Word does.
Then
the Word walks his smaller words, his earth,
these few men he serves breathe his further words
that form his stories since he spoke his birth,
the wild, narrow path they bound down and surge.
But
pause at the cold, dark words shaken about
over the deep where wind scatters the breath,
where God is ghost, firm is deep, faith is doubt.
one man needs one word to save him from death:
"Come."
the sound of the Word's word drowns out the old
till turbulent is stayed and wet bears weight
that word, once Water, bears a stepping Stone
but stable, solid, and spoken like Faith.