Every year around this time, i think of '93
the trip abroad, the walk alone,
the pier into the lake.
A night with stars unhindered all
Orion standing clear,
remembering already places here
where presence blunted fear.
In every place where i could see
the mark of faith and home,
there was a lonely ache;
when maps in school-day Bibles led
us through, our fears would take
a waning course, some games and tales
that all our distractions could make.
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