Box

A box in a cloud,
A clock's insistent ticking sound,
Float
As if sublime.

Oh divine grace,
Look him in the face.
Pull him from the wreckage
And give him space
To grow, to prosper.

But instead they invade,
And caress our tingling corners.
Unaware of
The crinkles in the eye which
Watches over,
(Occasionally blinks).

Stuck in that box,
We wonder: when we awake,
Will it be to death
or to life?
We sit while we wait.

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