Bidden
- Mar 28
- 2 min read
by Noel Plennert Poston
Who calls me forth,
as if I could ever be
forgotten,
as one of countless stars
and grains of endless sands?
I am the desert
man of ingrained plan,
found upon the plain,
the sea, asleep.
Awakened always
by your cries.
I feel for you,
watch you from the shore.
How you flail, fling yourself
against the night.
I bide my time
to enter yours.
I find myself alone
among my friends.
I tell you to be still
and know, to go
without and do
all things.
You, I say,
feed, reach out
to touch the wound.
I will be the bread
that breaks
upon the tongue,
the blood that rushes
to the heart of every
living and longing thing.
I will be the wind
that whistles in the dark,
draws you to the rooftop
of your house.
You will dig your way
through joist and joint,
just to lower me
into your tomb.
Kiss me before the stone
rolls into place,
as I am taken from your sight.
Again
and again you will tell
the story, hear it told.
How I came and went,
and came again.
Buried in the sands,
lost within the swirl of stars,
you will look for me.
Find me as I watch
for you, cedar
rootbound in the rock,
rising high above
your head.



