ode to scott cairns’ ‘hesychasterion’
when i make our bed i will take a leafy branch and with it, smooth the sheets of softest green, down to wait until the day dims and we find one another again.
when this daughter finds me writing in the shifting shadows on my morning porch, i ask her,
“do you know you have my heart?”
and with her back towards me so i can button this play dress, she answers,
“yes, i do.”
my heart is a stone, a rock, a piece of granite in my chest. it would weigh me down and drown me in the clear, sun-filled waters i so love.
but for you, o lord.
teacher who has taught how to etch, how to carve, a way in and through and there in the grotto of my heart, to prepare a silent place to meet with you.