Breathless sleepless
we rush through the night
Emmaus to Jerusalem
borne by message
more than muscle
to burst in at last
and shout he's risen
then dripping, spent,
we gasp our story . . .
when
suddenly,
Jesus.
Fresh from Emmaus. But fresh!
Peace be yours, he's saying
and somehow we sense a peace
so settled that any journey
seen from such central stillness
is less a move in time and space
and more a widened awareness
of kingdom encompassed within.
