holy fire


I found a poem this morning

along with God

where your hands had been

to carry me from my own darkness,

the shadow of the hunting hawk

over winter

where patient leaves


and the entire forest

of our love

was revealed.


I've always left part of my truth

in a paper shell

to someday burn

and send as sacrificial ash

into the sky.


These little envelopes

never met the flame

filling space in my ribs,

sheltering my heart 

when i was trying to build a home.


If I've said something now

that hurts you

causes grief

tears down a barn we were drafting

on the kitchen table,

ruins the garden like a thick frost over sprouts,

it's my way of opening your beautiful hand

to my vulnerable chest

to burn the past

so we can call this truce

a new freedom.