Blue Glass Bottle Trees

there was a spark 
or a heart, with lightning. 
i could see it with my eyes closed, 
hands touching with holiness 
in fingertips, and warmth.

let me show you how 
to twirl on tips of 
angels’ hair, cirrus strands 
swirling. we  
can fly, darling. 

i kept eyes closed,  
my spirit awake, 
my hands in His 
as my ribs inhale wonder, 
weightless and waiting. 
i feel the way He leads 
by the way He breathes  
assurance over my wandering 
feet, feeling for earth. 

let me show you 
heaven, without the eclipse 
of earth and her darkness. 
let me guide your hands 
across the walls of your room 
heaven has held for you, 
designed and desiring 
you, darling. 

and i notice the way 
i am afraid of His purpose. 
it’s okay to let your tongue 

rest, and your heart speak. 

i let her speak,  
and she tells me, 
if your spirit is starved, 
it is not His fault. 

i hated that. 

she says, 
purpose is sold by earth  
in blue glass bottles. 
in blindness, 
one spirit seems as The Spirit 
and whether you are 
His temple or a haunted house 
is hard to say. 

of purpose, 
they know not 
and ask not 
and have not 
but He, she says. 
He must be yours 
or you shall ever be 
afraid of anointing. 

i feel the weight of his fingers, 
interlocked, caught in mine, 
my spirit stirred as He listens 
to the uncertainty of my heartbeat. 
i try to say 
heaven is beautiful 
but instead say, 
i’m afraid because i made plans when 
i thought you couldn’t see me 

but I see you, darling 
when you weave your pain 
in your poems with purpose. 
I have sought a heart as yours 
for a purpose such as this.

and when i am afraid? 

let me show you how 
to fly with humility and ambition. 
be Icarus, darling, 
and fly, 
fly straight for the Sun. 

 i hear a thousand 
blue glass bottles shatter on earth 
Eden, a garden of stories  
ringing in song 
He, O lover of mine 
He, O father divine 
He, O joy’s resound 
He has done it 
I am found.