I am sitting here crafting an email The email words are surface One step down is my messy garage An incomplete symbol for my life Rotting door and everything I long for the Holy solitude Solitude that is not alone But alone with you oh Wonder Yet I am here in the noise A life that beats the runners rhythm My mind and spirit grow lichens The dew settles on my beard Moss grows in the keyboard I use But not really, the woods are far The fog I know it conceals This longing is not for the woods It is not held back by my own failings Oh Source I feel it Forgotten in the thrum of life's churn Remind me of beauty, please, of joy