Inmate

by Bryan Snyder

Like the white-plastered walls about his room
That edge in warm worn-chestnut trim
The plaques and fractures plain from long exposing,

Familiar walls of fear hold him at home;
Often they do not seem to him
A prison for the comfort of their closing.

But when all nature sang outside, his window
Knew his longing kneeling at the pane.
Nothing from within could quench the call.

Not that he never forays forth. The winnowed
Winds have met him and the rain,
But home is near and holds for him its thrall,

And through his daily labors sometimes flows
A quiet doubt if someone knows
The tools or power to pull apart these walls.

Bryan is excited to meet God while he wanders through God’s creation or our smaller creations.

Photography by Kenneth Godoy