I wait upon early morning fog
a remnant of warm days configured
from cold night surprise enfolded
with first light ascending to burnThere is a softness in the brume
that welcomes an alternate seeing
a compassionate new view
a slowing to respondSharp edges that cut deep
bleeding my soul onto
grey stone pavement blur
forces inquiry not into vapor
but plunges into my marrowIn 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
To Create... 
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
Oh, thank you. Writing heals me.