The Passenger

Flying a single engine Beech Sierra
with nothing to believe in,
not this emptied egg nor
the infall-
ibility of engines

i among amorphous promises and sonic blue,
wonder at my own existence.
Would i exist if not one believed in me?

am i creator or am I
created by them,
a ghost they’d bring to earth
to suffer their defaults,
identified with death

rather than with life. I give them Will.
They broke the Atom; both
awesome explosions. Unleashed,
they’d rivet their rockets
the visible. Their prayers,
they televise to Me
as though I AM merely
to observe their vanities.

I drift among the stars
in day’s enlightenment,
shine for them in night’s doubt.
Distance is My Mystery,
diminishes them, enlarges Me.
My shadow in this weightless cross
encompasses the universe.

i glide to earth where faith is easier
if only for the moment.
i am too mortal for
Divine Loneliness.

by Adrienne Wolfert