In Morning Holy

Spirit is pink light playing

in blue, breezeless air,

coaxing memories

of how the earth once

held you like a lover

and was sad to give you up,

but let you go

for the joy of finally being seen

through your eyes

as everything you are not

and everything it is not

gets pared away,

prayer by prayer, tear

by tear, into something

that belongs to everyone,

something only discovered

through emerging, returning,

and treading toward an

invisible door of understanding

that nothing could be more

impossibly perfect than your

being here exactly in this

tender moment.