None In One

I look
but do not see

reach but
cannot touch

eat but
do not taste

move but
remain in place

pull together but
nothing joins

speak but
no one listens

listen but
hear silence

I am form
without definition

I embrace
one part of nothing

what is
will not last

what comes is
yet to be

I am at one
with shifting wind

blowing dry leaves
over barren soil

I have become
none in one

whom I do
not know

Silent Presence

wherever I look
I see your image

in the flower
at dusk embedded

clouds resting above
an orange horizon

when I listen
your voice speaks

in the wind
summoning me home

Her End

now all’s well
complete whole and
in its place

but often I
wonder how all
of it went

through the gradual
descent alone and
without warning of

what might come
at moment least
suspected with her

alone with the
sound slowly released
from her breath

Encomium

you are to me
what yesterday was
to today before
tomorrow has a name

you move through me
without touching

being without speaking
as silence is to song

in words sung from
the one who makes me sing

David Sermersheim

Paean To The Unknown

what it is of you
is sensed not held
in opened hands

imagined in the
texture of all
that is beautiful

bountiful and generous
in its manifestations
great and small

by those who
have seen mysteries
unfold in peaceful intimacy

in dreams of
imploring souls seeking
truth quietly alone

David Sermersheim

Trial

Trial


master
I know this
trial will end
and I will

remember and be
grateful for what
this time has

taught me about
what I have
and do not need

your light has
shown on manifold
gifts within the

darkest hours that
made me humble
and hunger for

more of the
what has sustained
my soul and

quenched my thirst
for the taste
of something greater

than what I
had before this
hour began

Fateful Image

Fateful Image


the shadow became
a shroud in
the crux of
a cross-beam

where beginning met
end in innocence
not ambitious intent
as silence drew

a curtain over
an image that
wouldn’t be forgotten
or act forgiven

sighs and cries
rose into the
face of an
angry wind turning

noon to night
where hope died
twisting on rusted
tong driven into

the corpus hung
on a hill
where nescience found
comfort in the

capacious embrace of
of ignorance tamped
into the sand
of a barren land

David Sermersheim