The Variable Heart

This was her heart till now; a milk weed seed
Anchored securely to a wisp of down.
It had a drifting desultory creed;
but love remained its verb, remained its noun.

Think how the wind moved and tormented her
and cast her forth on rock, on arid clay,
how even the least gust prevented her
from any constancy save her dismay.

This is a garden: pray the wind may let
her down in that soil where her roots can move.
Ask God to hold her till her roots are set
safe in the windless moment of His love.

(Jessica Powers)