How Lovely Is Thy Dwelling Place

Here is a rather awful poem I wrote, sort-of based on Psalm 84. The assignment was to describe an "encounter with the supernatural".This is about as close as I can get to such an encounter, aside from describing Sabbath worship and the Communion table.

How Lovely Is Thy Dwelling Place

I stand beneath mountains’ pillars. Sky rests on stone
supported by flying buttresses of bowing branches.
Trees’ translucent clerestories filter light
on polished rocks and moss-upholstered roots. Green sun
falls on my face, the smell of earth and water like
incense evaporating from cold creeks. Water sings
its psalms among the rustling aspen wings.

I see Him here: His fingers in pure-skinned trees,
His face in sky, His voice in wind. The heavens are
a flimsy veil to hide Him, yet He has stretched them,
a weaver pulling tight loom’s cords, to shield me from
His holiness. I watch a sword-drawn, slender hawk
dip, candle flame, upon the wind, borne up by Him
even as I am myself. Beyond the rim

of this world stars are climbing through the dark: they step,
ascending from strength to strength, pursuing the sun
that marked their path before it set into the west.
A galaxy, a company of little lights,
they march on night’s unyielding clay, in search of dawn.
They know the sun shall rise to call them with its rays,
and they shall see His face at break of day.