I can write down words, like these, softly...
Give me a little time…
It doesn’t happen all of a sudden, you know.

…my heart panics not to be,
as I long to be,
the empty, waiting, pure, speechless receptacle.
~Mary Oliver from the title poem from “Blue Iris”

To plunge headlong into
the heart of a blossom, its amber eyes
inscrutably focusing on your own,
magnified by a lens of dew.
Whose scent, invisible,
drowns you in opulence, and for which
you can find nothing adequate to say.

You sense that you are loved wholly,
yet are quite unable to understand why.
But then, you lift your face,
creased with the ordinary, to a heaven
that is breaking into blue,
and find your contentment utterly beyond
telling, unspeakable, uncontained.
~Luci Shaw from “Speechless” from  Sea Glass

There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
~Li-Young Lee, last stanza of “From Blossoms” from Rose.

To live as if
death were nowhere in the future,
instead, to bud, emerge, and blossom,
even when thirsting in the desert of discouragement –
Christ is here, waiting.
 
We are not dying,
but become alive in Him:
an amazing impossible flowering.

I peer inside each bloom as it opens,
needing a flotation device
and depth finder
as I’m likely to get lost,
sweeping and swooning
through the inner space
of life’s deep tunnels,
canyons and corners,
coming up for air before diving in again
to journey into exotic locales
draped in silken hues
~this heaven on a stem~
to immerse and emerge
in the possibilities
of God’s impossible blossom.