At Night

At Night

(“He came to Jesus at night and said, ‘Teacher, we know You have come from God to teach us. No one can do these powerful works You do unless God is with Him.’” John 3:2)

We search beneath the curtained sky, moonless nights,
shortened “whys”. We ask with whispered lips, shaky limbs,
tripping tongues.

We sat up straight from morning till noon,
took a lunch, and loped through the afternoon.
The phones rang and we answered. The questions lobbed

and we prepared our quotations. Our pace was certain,
though we misread the destination.

The mud was still warm, the tree limbs exhaled their
humid breath, and we found the steps to the ancient well
where we did our best thinking. The leftovers of the day
radiated from the darkening stones to our face wrinkled
more by inquisitive lines than age.

On the right day of the month we pick up our checks,
a reward for hours or completed projects, and yet,
it never fairly represents our work. We wish for more,
we deserve less. Nevertheless digits measure our worth
for better or worse.

The aquifer has fed the well for more generations than
present habitants can count. The water absorbs the
workday heat from our brow as we lean into the black
circle and smell life and moss; distant frogs and songs.

The place we do our best thinking is a puzzle of creation,
a mystery, a rebus that quenches our thirst for grace.

We wake in the morning to earn our living again,
sun up, doors creak, cashiers call; buy, trade, sell,
alone, afraid, a bonus, a pink slip, time spent without
knowing names.

The well remains.