Marginals

I find it strange that water plants flanking the edges of ponds are known as marginals. We lament the marginalization of a people group, an individual, or even an original idea, so it seems sad that the beauties that line our banks carry this name. But I remind myself that genius, or splendor, may be born from margins, and so may faith.

Marginals

Faith floats 
in margins;
ink-stems 
coil along 
the brink
of words 
rippling 
across 
a page, 
hope jots 
the shore’s
pearly foam
bound before
a scarlet edge
of the loose leaf—
yet our emergents
ride the rolling swells 
of sentences, their words 
wafting along banks of belief
shallow, rooted in creases of lichened gravel
gathered between land and sea, beneath curled waves of  
of some vast truth—    their beauty 	 still emerging  	to bloom.