August 2, 2020
A poem from 2017.
Warm hearthlight flickers, hidden inside the secret text.
I made pilgrimage to this house, into all that remains of me.
This smoke, an offering to heretical angels.
I lay my hand on your arm,
a mendicant at the gate of exiles.
Thrown like a pot, spun upon the wheel,
and a sense of the world on fire
as a fusillade of love cascades over lips and tongues
broken open now, a benediction
placed into the hand of homecoming.