Wind, Fire

Photo by Gabrielle Johnson, Chasing Horizons Photography

A Poem by Ashlyn Ohm

Who said You were a weak white dove

cooing compliance, quite content 

to hitch a ride on my religiosity? 

and who decided You were immaterial

ethereal within the stained glass window 

frame spun from matterless mind as an idea? 

Last I heard, You were a breath. No. A wind. 

Soft enough to rattle like a question through

those Palestine palm trees—but strong enough 

to sweep old Nicodemus off his feet. 

Born again—

That is how I know You, Paraclete unparalleled, 

Truth-teller twisting three tongues of flame, 

Pneuma-ninja, Ruach-wrestler, bursting 

our wineskins, the shadow that shows 

us the footprint of Light. You race and return 

like the east-to-west lightning, splashing 

Your children with water and blood. 

Last I saw, O Spirit, You are a fire—

scorching across my self-satisfied soul,

sowing sparks in the soil that watches

for a breath, for an ember,

for shadow, for wind.

A worshiper of the Creator and a wanderer of creation, Ashlyn McKayla Ohm is most at home where the streetlights die and the pavement ends. Her work has been featured by publications such as Clayjar Review, Truly Co., Proverbs 31, Calla Press, Vessels of Light, and Heart of Flesh. If she’s not daydreaming about her next book, you’ll find her hiking, birdwatching, or otherwise getting lost in the woods. Follow Ashlyn’s writing at her website, ashlynmckaylaohm.com, or on her Substack, wordsfromthewilderness.substack.com