The Psalmist said, “Lord, how shall I not
call thy name?” The hills were green with
his wonder and the birds flew filled
with singing, so he sang, “Lord, how shall I
not know thee upon the mountain
when thy sheep are the great stars of heaven,
thy horn the sun and moon, and all the fields
bloom as thy glance approves?”

Under meditative graces of the trees, the Psalmist

sat him down without hindrance or favor.
Under his gaze rivers ran glinting among cedars
toward the dark blue paths strewn
with rushes and bordered with white stones.
And who did the Psalmist chance to see walking there
but the Lord and the Lord’s loneliness, that friend
so much like ourselves
and so lost in what cannot be done about it.

The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

To experience the full archive, log in or subscribe now.

Related Poetry

[Honey lives only]


Jerzy Ficowski

Grace in Action or Murphy’s Law in Reverse


Karen An-hwei Lee

The Window


Melanie Rae Thon

abstract image of a window with scratches and dew on it, background is green and murky and blurry.

Sudden Death


Richard Michelson

Pin It on Pinterest