the fire still smolders within

Uncle Bus

as the fires within go out one by one,

it’s harder and harder to see 

beyond the shell of the face

into the heart of light within,

the Self still there, still loving, and still loved,

there God kindles the fires that we use to forge form from the formless,

my Uncle Bus forged a marriage with she who completed him,

a family with three kids, each uniquely wonderful,

who each work to forge anew as grandchildren come to be,

my Uncle Bus forged his love of gardening into bounty,

his love of wood on the lathe as subtraction equals addition:
plates and bowls whirling under the shaping of his hand

till the beauty within is revealed,

forged his love of order into drawing, 

with hot carver and cool Sharpie,

Bus was naturally an engineer and worked for TVA,

a builder who worked for family and “the least of these our brethren,”

though our eyes and his cannot let us see far within any more, 

there at his heart God lives in the fires that still smolder in love.

by Henry H. Walker

January 15, ’14