My tears slid under the door
And unlocked its hinge,
Control shaking my fingers,
Finally worn out.

The compassionate *****
Of my Father’s shoulders
Lowered to my level,
Stilling the tremors.

Ramshackle debris of Me
Littered the space,
The results of my own failed,
Selfish attempts.

I handed it to Him, the mess
Of the Room I was afraid
He would devestate, feeling
Only deep relief.

Questions alcoved in the long,
Curved necks of lamp posts—
A God who reaches His light
Toward the murky darkness.
Souls slouched in posture on
The side of the road, unseeing,
Focused inward, cradling the
Night close until their eyes
Stop percieving the daylight.
There must be rows and rows
Of them, all lined up on the curb,
Hugging their knees close, blind
To the shoulders inches from
Their aching hearts—
Children of the world, chastising
Their lack of knowledge, their
Inability to move—
The narrow road moves on,
A river of hope outlined by a
Figure of patience, watching as
The bodies of cars buckle and
Deflate on the wide avenue,
Drivers unfolding from the smoking
Holds to the row of people who 

Relied on the promise of themselves.

Rended heartstrings
on a beat-up guitar,
A voice trying to
reach heaven—

The borders between
souls merge, only
Family in the air of
the Spirit—

I let the pool widen at my feet,
The vanity of myself leaking
From my body, gathering at
My ankles, forming an ocean.

One day, as I no longer relied
On my own strength, I saw
I was walking on the water
Of Grace.

The hours began to pass
Like strawberry jam
On sourdough toast
In the morning.

Silk-thin pages flapping
In the gentle wind,

Birds of God’s creation
Squawking above.

The sun seeped through
The clouds like honey,
Droplets of joy, of

God’s presence.

Breathe in, breathe out,
The revival of the soul,
Hours gained as I
Rest in my Lord.