Two poems from talk:

Shaped by love ~Trudy Johnston

Shaped by love, Are we clay spinning on a wheel? Then where is the wheel, whose hands Are shaping this soft earth, Is the supple earth Choosing? Are we wood, with a craftsman’s hands Revealing through the grain And the sharp blows Of a chisel, the faces Of hidden love, Are we river beds, Shaped by the tumbling waters Meeting hardness And softness as we plunge towards The waiting sea. Life, life is hands And chisels And earth banks Holding and revealing What cannot be known, Only relinquishing Knowing Allows our full shape to emerge.

The Question ~ Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

for Jude Jordan Kalush

All day, I replay these words: Is this the path of love? I think of them as I rise, as I wake my children, as I wash dishes, as I drive too close behind the slow blue Subaru, Is this the path of love? Think of these words as I stand in line at the grocery store, think of them as I sit on the couch with my daughter. Amazing how quickly six words become compass, the new lens through which to see myself in the world. I notice what the question is not. Not, “Is this right?” Not, “Is this wrong?” It just longs to know how the action of existence links us to the path to love. And is it this? Is it this? All day, I let myself be led by the question. All day I let myself not be too certain of the answer. Is it this? Is this the path of love? I ask as I wait for the next word to come.