Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Communion

Do you remember when we ran across
the long playing fields in the rain
and laughed like children?
I sang us into being
and you reached up and placed the sun in the sky above us.

That was back before time.
Before I ran headlong into the fray
with only my dreams in my pocket.
I thought I could trust everyone the way I trusted you.
When I turned to come home
the path was gone.
I've leaned into the wind for years now, waiting.

Long ago, so very long ago, we traded keys.
Do you remember?
I've kept mine all this time.
It sits in a tiny box on the altar of my heart.
It opens a tiny box on the altar of your heart.

Did you know that when I look at you
I see only light?
You still carry the sun
and leave grace in your footfall.
I catch my breath, again and again.

For many years I kept myself in a box.
I sat there for so long
in my too small space,
curled up into myself
because I thought that's what I was supposed to do.

I've awakened now.
I stand among the remnants of those walls,
shaking the sleep from my limbs
and casting off the long years of disappointment.
From where I stand
I can see the sun you set into motion.

Soon I will follow its arc across the sky.
I will step over continents and lie down with you in a bed of mercy.
We will whisper our secrets in the darkness.
You will trace the lines of our communion
and I will cup your dreams in my hand,
and we will sleep the sleep of children once again.





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