I slide and glide

Into an awareness

Not fit for fear or reason.

I tip my toes,

And crane my neck,

To see what lives

Beyond this flimsy wall

Of my own vain ambition.

Try as I may,

Try as I might,

My plans still mere illusions.

As I bury them

Beneath the surface

Of hardening soil,

They take root and grow

Into a mighty oak

Reaching for the sun;

In an act of worship,

A soft surrender

To all that is

And all that is

Yet to come.