God seemed more vocal in my younger days – more tangible, embodied and defined. A sense of presence came in clearer ways – it seemed that words were given, underlined. The vision in my mind I knew as gift, the words so wryly apt I felt God formed, or gave the book that readied me to shift my sights, my soul, to claim a world transformed. Now though I still await the given word, I trace it lightly on the page, not clear what meaning quirks in what I thought I heard. It swirls like steam drawn up to disappear; yet insubstantial clouds can catch the light, and draw the eyes that find the sun too bright.