the stranger

A stranger wandered into the gathering.

No one recognized her.

They spoke of love;

Endless deeds accumulated like stacks of golden coins. . .

Elevated, for all to see before being deposited in the deep, dark vault of self.

The stranger had none, but offered Presence.

None accepted, for she spoke too softly to be heard amidst the clamor.

The offer passed like a whisper in the night

slipping between the gathering of deeds

held up to the light.

by Rev. Simeon Nartoomid
September 12, 2002