Of poetry and sand….

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I’m smitten,
fresh in love with the sweet,  tender brilliance
who designed breeze and feathers and muscadine grapes
and the way sunlight dances on water and calls to the questions in me,
calls them churning and tumbling from my muck
into the soothing,  sorting flow of a cold river running deep and true,
whispering me awake and shiny where my hope
got stained.

I wonder if our lives begin and end and are colored mostly in between
by what we think of him,  of her,  of this God who is both and only
and more real than earth and stars
and who is of all beings most misunderstood
because He’s a poet,  I think,  and our hearts are poetry-poor
and that kind of connection takes some time and a lot of relationship
and enough humility to ask a lot and listen even more

and this thing called trust
which may mostly elude me
except how I plop down childlike in the sandbox of my heart
and make castles and stories and orchards and art

but still I feel it,   that my little piles of sand
shaped by grubby hands
and offered up with clumsy grateful joy
are dear to heaven somehow
and there is Love enough and laughter,  too
to cover me and make enough
out of the little things my hands can do.

“Love once said to me
I know a song,
would you like to hear it?

And laughter came from every brick in the street
and from every pore in the sky,

After a night of prayer,  He changed my life
when He sang,
“Enjoy me.”  “

-Teresa of Avila