Poetry

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(Luke 4:1-13)



The Spirit
Led the Son
Into wilderness terrain
That bore His imprint
Through the sands of time.

Imprints first made
By whispery touches
Of the pillar of His cloud
Borne aloft
Pointing the way to hope, to promise.

Imprints deeply scoured
By the blaze of His fiery pillar
Guarding the way
From all who would come
To pillage and devour.

The Spirit led the Son
To the wilderness that
Knew His touch
That had drunk the Living Water
Poured forth from the Rock once struck.

A wilderness
Whose very sands He’d numbered
As they spilled from His hand
Like an hourglass of mercy
Awaiting a piercing, spelling grace.

A Spirit-led Son
Newly walked a wilderness
Already carved with the finger of His law
Revealing at last the spirit of its truth
Hidden until now within man's confining letter.

The Spirit-led Bread of Heaven entered,
Again, a wilderness’s knowing ...
Of manna’s covering for forty tested years ...
And turned not a stone
To bread that could only taste decay.

The wilderness
Well-knew this Son
Spirit-led
And held its breath – waiting – groaning for
The restoration of Eden’s garden promise upon its sands.

And when His Spirit-filled steps left its sands at last
The wilderness knew
Next time it would feel only the touch of His shadow
Bearing me aloft upon His wings
As we soar above heated desert skies –forever free.


© 31 March 2005
DeAnna L. Brooks

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