Marrow

I wait upon early morning fog
a remnant of warm days configured
from cold night surprise enfolded
with first light ascending to burn

There is a softness in the brume
that welcomes an alternate seeing
a compassionate new view
a slowing to respond

Sharp edges that cut deep
bleeding my soul onto
grey stone pavement blur
forces inquiry not into vapor
but plunges into my marrow

In the nebula ache disappears
a vacant image I shall not press
I surrender to Intimacy within
the You and me a tangle of
interwoven communion

2 thoughts on “Marrow

  1. I don’t know how you can write such wonderful stuff when you feel so sick great job

    A Christian is one whose door is closed to no one and whose table is open to all.. Pelagius

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