On Moments Outside

a poem of sorts.

Sing, dearest soul

Of the stillness of shadows and the speckles of sun,

Ever punctual Phoebus his chariot runs;

Of sails catching the wind, sailor’s sunfish to keel;

Of evening incense arising, in the worship of Real;

Of the shivers of smiles on a new lover’s lips;

Of the snow, full and fallen, winter winds for to whip;

Of the first forméd fissure at a sculptor’s command,

The Shepherd the Potter, we the clay in His Hands;

Would that I wander forever, ever onward to live,

My heart for to burst from each beauty He gives–

These waves through me crash, such miraculous sound:

It’s the moments outside of myself I am found.

09.18.2025; 10:45AM. (Composed in class, I’m afraid)

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I jotted this poem down during a midmorning Theology discussion in the first few weeks of my fall semester. At the time I had recently joined my college’s sailing guild and spent my Wednesday evenings getting familiar with the invisible but powerful tug of wind on sail. There’s something deeply soul-satisfying about being out on the water in evening’s golden light. On this particular Thursday morning in a classroom in balmy sunshine, coffee gone cold, I was still starry-eyed thinking about it.

We were discussing poetry and the small but sometimes life-altering moments of Beauty that draw us both out of ourselves and more fully in. This pulled me from my reverie and into a state of scribbling. It’s the moments of encounter, the moments where we stop thinking about ourselves and instead turn our focus to what is in front of us, where we become more deeply rooted in our identities. Sitting with a hand on the rudder of a tiny sunfish boat and feeling the wind breathe motion into the sails, going to evening Adoration, any occasion to let beauty pierce your soul—God shapes us through these moments. As Isaiah 64:7 reads: “Yet, LORD, You are our Father; we are the clay and You our potter: we are all the work of Your Hand.”

+AMDG+

Sailing on Massabesic Lake, NH | 10.1.2025