The Living Thread

We meet as strangers,
eyes brushing past like wind on stone.
Your name, a sound I barely hold;
mine, a word already fading.
We nod, we pass,
two islands adrift,
separated by the waters we cannot see.

But beneath the surface,
where the roots of being entwine,
I hear your mother’s laughter,
your father’s sigh.

The echo of ancestors hums in your blood—
their stories written in the dark rivers
of your veins.
And mine hum with the same rhythm.

What lives in you is not yours alone.
The old songs of earth,
the murmur of forgotten prayers,
the collective pulse of life—
they rise and fall in us,
woven into the fabric we did not weave
but wear all the same.

Here, the silence speaks.
We are not alone.
The distance dissolves,
and the sacred thread of living substance
binds us.
Your breath touches mine,
and I know—
we belong to a wholeness
too vast to name.

In the meeting of depths,
God moves unseen,
pulling us toward one another
and into Himself.
What seemed ordinary
becomes holy ground,
a communion of lives
woven into eternity.

"The Spirit Himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children."—Romans 8:16

(c) R Gordon Zyne