I have paced myself with the paces of exuberance
and littered the floor with scrumpled-up papers.
I’ve peeled myself like a ripe fruit
and shared the segments, squeezed out juices.
Of grace, I have wondered upon
and peered between the slats of your kingdom,
but you have been to me closer than
what is cherished as close
and have shown me the kingdom within.
You have handed me brushes, and a palette of colours,
You have reached out to take my hand
and kept my hand in your hand.
You are not in a hurry
and wait to hear my voice as it stumbles
in wave upon wave on the tide of your shores.
You have handed me a pen, and some paper on a table
and you have shown me the garden, on the edge of attention.
We have breathed the same breath, under the pre-dawn light
and thought the same thoughts, trembling on what begins.
There are times when your face alone is enough for my heart,
because the words have lain down, and gone into hibernation.
And when this comes, I mustn’t fight it, but take it instead
as the most intimate of invitations.
I feel the turning of what must be borne,
as it grows and lurches deep down
And finds its first breath when we least expect it,
howling to come out and make itself known.
So untidy, we are not made for perfection,
but find our truest expression when we run into ourselves,
to find the Son there is rising.
Photography Johannes Plenio Pexels