I don't know if you've ever met a head of barley
In late August, protected by its spiky beards.
It sticks to your clothes from pure faithfulness.

When a farm girl picks up a Leghorn feather
And waves it in an empty barn, the storm it
Raises is as subtle as the wind of faithfulness.

The last maple leaf hanging in its tree against
The blue sky is like that angel who brought
His wing-tips in near Mary's faithfulness.

The sitar player keeps track of twelve notes
For each raga, five up and seven down. Even
With twelve brides, he maintains faithfulness.

You know a needle sticks up for itself; it's
Not a generous thing, but joining with the hand,
It starts out on the road to faithfulness.

It's hard to know what to say about the marvels
Inside the soul. Even those of us who have broken
Many promises can still hope for faithfulness.

- Robert Bly, published in The American Poetry Review, 2006,
quoted in The Best American Spiritual Writing 2007

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