The Call

How could I hear Your call, Lord?
I think quiet’s a vacuum
and nervously fill it
with bodiless voices
or TV dramas.
I read a book,
or mop a floor,
or weed a flower bed-
avoiding the calm center,
fearing the time
when my mind opens.

But, tonight, I sit alone.
The wind stirs my hair.
A blue jay’s flight threads
the grey design of treeless branches.
To the North, the sun sets the maples ablaze.

In this peace, Lord,
will You call me?
How will I answer?