Remnants

This is my own tragedy
This telepresence, of sorts
I, loving you

Self-created, for my imagination is that of a girl reading far too many fanciful tales of interplanetary affection and of camel-led caravans of the Orient
The dust of this all still surrounds me

Something I alone permit
Against God’s will,
I believe in you

blaze

I am to go deep with you
Some say I have
Some ask what for
I know there’s no secret You
No obscure path
No hide and seek
I, Earthbound, in need of you
You, Smith…I, rod
You, Shield…I, scout

Wing

It is enough for me, the breeze today. To let it waft over me, and with it, bring a strength.

Beauty and curiosity, like a bleached-comb Cardinal, often ride on such air. This morning, though, wisdom arrived.

This morning, the wind asked for my resolve: A halt to crying over others’ big promises and small feet. The stop to the bruises I allow.

A decision that I am enough. The God who created me said so.

This weekend, a storm of understanding is predicted. An Eastern Bluebird cannot be far behind.

Set Apart

What if an angel is all that you were made to be

A guardian with no human arms in the ever of time to guard you

A servant among an army of servants, hosting the faint and heartsick

A consecrated one, bringing stranded souls back together

What if God’s breath is the all you were made to be

The Fates

Why did you act like water and feel like hands

And I, born thirsty with never a progenitor to touch me

Why did I, the reluctant saint, concede nonetheless to True North’s tug

And you, the only lesser god ever worth worshipping