Day 16

every day I
sit to type to
work words and meter
rhythm and images

I settle my notebook
onto my lap
and close my eyes
breathe in slowly
deeply
twice, then open

and every day my
gaze falls to the same photo
framed on my wall
and I lose that just drawn breath

like magnets
like a forcefield of some consideration
a gravitational pull, the weight of
my wanting for words
always
races towards that image

and every day
I repeat the exercise until
new words find me

I don't want to parse that picture
some soliloquy or monologue
bland by comparison
immeasurably inadequate
but today
my words fail me so
I try

it is the roof of a church
flanked by birch trees
viewed from the forest floor
I am holding the camera
angling until I catch all three towers
and two eaves pointed towards the sky

It is wooden, the building
constructed entirely from
the trees they cleared to build it
and nothing else
there is no waste here

it is almost as though it
the church
is just another birch with peeling bark
belonging, at home on this land

the only objects foreign to this territory
are the copper cupolas topped with gold crosses
gleaming like beacons
yet reflecting the neutral tones surrounding
naturally supernatural

this picture, this church in the woods
it is a symbol for me
a brief, still, moment from my time in Siberia
that word that when heard means "wasteland" to so many
but this picture is dense and lush
this building is organic
and instead of undergirding
the unspoken idea that
Siberia is God-forsaken
it is proof that He dwells here
always has
The Almighty calls this forest
Home

I loved the image
before I opened any camera cases, pressed any buttons
my group waited for me as I
stared towards the sky, transfixed

but I love it even more now,
today

I love it because if you look closely
there is something in the picture
that I did not see that day in the woods

In the shadows of the spires
on the roof of that wooden church,
there is a man
kneeling
with a hammer

and I know
that this place is still being built
this land is not God-forsaken
the saints are joining in
working alongside
there is progress

exiled in Siberia?

no
I was freed