Dreams of Enough

I dream of having enough time
to pursue purple imagination
across the page—or the morning sky,
enough imagination to chase boredom
and despair out of their gray dens
into the warming sun,
enough boredom to appreciate work
that gets me out of bed with a purpose
—a purpose that gives a little joy
to scatter like clover seed on soft earth.

I dream of having enough time and strength
to get all my work done
—classes prepared for sharp young minds,
or juice squeezed from late tomatoes
—enough peaches and plums preserved
for barren winter days.

I dream of having time enough for quiet places
—like the cabin by the river where
the blue heron stands tall and watchful,
and I can hear the rhythm of rain on the tin roof,

where peace drops like the rain and
collects enough grace to forgive
the thoughtless words of others.
I want to make time enough to
kiss the wrinkled faces—old or young,
to hold hands that are withered or plump,
and to drop into some hands a little hope,
knowing that but for God’s grace,
I am the man without legs,
begging on a Chengdu street.

I can also dream of justice
like a clear flowing stream,
cleansing the earth of all its corruptions,
but I want my dreams to be as present
as one task, one face, one moment,
or one cup of water,
and in these dreams,
I want to trust, I may find
God’s enough.

—Esther Yoder Stenson, Harrisonburg, Virginia, teaches English at James Madison University and is author of the collection of poems Miracle Temple (DreamSeeker Books, imprint of Cascadia Publishing House, 2009).