for morgan [from the archives]

today i speak to you
for you are the canvas that reaches
far above my own.
you are the separation
between this sojourning tent
and my only Home. you are the second story.
we are the ground flour.
you are the veil,
the tabernacle concealed.
and every day, up in the middle at noon
your brilliance pierces me.
my vision yields,
and i long for that Upper Room.

you are furnished already.
this body’s an empty shell.
you are the underneath of heaven,
and i can’t reach that high that well.

by dusk you are the dim glass,
the aching in my soul.
by night you are,
mosaically speaking,
a thousand points of gleaming glass lit by fire,
and reflecting
what i long to see at last.
by day you are my window
and shoot down ladders to the sun.
but always my reminder
that when this earthly vapor has passed
i will soar through atmosphere,
to Light so bright
that shadows are not even, ever, cast.

are you a river?
water falls from you,
and i do not understand if the droplets are tears
or splashes from the Jordan
when the saints are comin’ through.
i think you spill living water,
i think rain is Life
i think i should capture you in curved-open hands
and let you breathe life
into these sin-parched lands.

sky, i will put away my umbrella.
i will hide no more.

heaven’s carpet is studded
with nail-pierced holes.
you hold the Lamb of God, and yet,
the Lamb of God holds you.
a sword pierced His side, and
blood and water flowed.

eres como esperanza.
eres tú mi ventana,
y quiero mucho ver allí,
más allá.

-19 january 2008

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