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.