Iona Copyright © Kenneth Steven, 2009

Is this place really nearer to God?
Is the wall thin between our whispers
And his listening? I only know
The world grows less and less -
Here what matters is conquering the wind,
Coming home dryshod, getting the fire lit.
I am not sure whether there is no time here
Or more time, whether the light is stronger
Or just easier to see. That is why
I keep returning, thirsty, to this place
That is older than my understanding,
Younger than my broken spirit.