On cold worn pavement my

clumsy foot stumbles on

a crack, whose line and spintering path

You stretched out with careful thumb and forefinger

from end to end, whose jagged rambles are the

slashes of Your furious joyful pen.

You have named each pebble packed like

closely knitted stitches into the sunbaked slab;

You know from which ancient mountain it was

hewn, and in which field, fertile or

fallow, it will rest as dust.


4 thoughts on “besidewalk

  1. I like this poem too, I like the idea of moving outward from the particular mundane to the universal perspective. Or put another way, how the infinite mind of God can be seen in something small and finite.

    I don’t think the herded cattle metaphor fits just right in this poem though. It seems to move away from the economy of imagery in the other lines.


    • I am considering a revision, but I am not sure yet. Ultimately the poem is not merely about the mundane, but also about the unfortunate, the powerless, and the decaying. For God is sovereign, too, not just over pleasantries and provision but over death and destruction. So I don’t know. Perhaps you are right, it does seem the tiniest bit out of place, but I haven’t decided yet. Thanks for your criticism. I will consider it carefully.


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