—To Singing— by Ryan Keating

I sometimes feel the Presence when we sing
While distant stars explode out in the dark
Following bright words on a shaded screen
As when a hammer strikes and hot iron sparks

Fly upward with my soul above the room
Crushed leaves decompose into ancient paths
Open to meaning buried in the tune
A blazing campfire resolves into ash

On the foreheads of saints gathered today
New life emerges in the spring from mud
We’re seeking the one who makes us this way
In nature affection is drawn with blood

And sacrifice made of melody on
Bodies held in orbit by gravity

Ryan Keating is a writer, pastor, and teacher on the Mediterranean island of Cyprus. His work can be found in publications such as Saint Katherine Review, Ekstasis Magazine, Amethyst Review, Macrina Magazine, Fathom, Vocivia, Roi Fainéant, and Miras Dergi, where he is a regular contributor in English and Turkish.

Instagram: @ryankeating77
Twitter: @keatingr