Saturday, June 26, 2010

Your breath, a breeze

You offer me
an invitation and a block;
bright flowers draw me to your door,
but somehow no one's there to let me in
and so I stand,
a shabby beggar
on the steps of a church,
and yet shut out.
Perhaps the time has come to see
there is no there beyond the door;
that now, and here, are all I know,
and all I need to know:
bright flowers trumpeting
your presence to the skies
a gift to draw me into now
and hold me here
to watch this bold magenta swaying,
shifting in the breeze of your breath,
faces ever turning
to your light.

* * *

1 comment:

Maureen said...

That "door" does have a threshold. Right now you're waiting to cross it. Soon, you will. And you'll bloom in your own unique way.